It's Not So
by achildofthestars
Summary: HouseCam. House woke from his coma to not remember anything over the past year. This includes a Head Honcho Foreman, Surgeon Single Chase, Secretive Wilson, Same Cuddy, and Pregnant Cameron. So many questions need to be answered. Complete.
1. Wake up, Sunshine

Coffee. It's something she hadn't thought she'd miss, but her dreams of a deep, rich, wonderfully blended coffee drink tend to reassure her, that she in fact, does. Sighing as some male nurse rests his styrofoam cup down on the nurses' station, she closes her eyes, inhaling the strong scent of...Brazilian nut, toasted almond, and was that --.

"Cameron?"

"Huh?"

Her reply makes him nearly laugh, but the look of pure desire at the coffee cup _does_ make him laugh. He disregards the murderous look on her features.

"I'm going to say this no caffeine, no coffee thing, is getting to you?"

She lets her left elbow rest on the station, not deigning to give him an answer. "Taub still giving you a hard time?"

"You know, not so much. I'm getting worried."

"Well, it's been about three months. I guess he's finally getting used to the idea that you're the head honcho."

"How are _you_?"

"Would everyone stop asking me that?" She jerkily tucks her hair behind her left ear. "Three months. He's not dead. He was a colleague, not my...secret lover."

* * *

Bright lights cause him to close his eyes exactly one second after he's first opened them. In the dark, his mind begins to whir. His other sensations heighten.

Sight. Cross that one off. He knows it's bright, he's alone, and in the hospital.

Taste. There's mint from a toothpaste. His mouth is gummy, very gummy.

Smell. The hospital holds a scent he's more than comfortable with. He can smell his body, which surprises him because he doesn't smell like the soap he usually buys.

Hear. Machines inside his room, tell him his heart rate is on the slow side. Voices from outside his private room tell him that it's almost lunch. Gina says something about taking her smoke break. She only does that before she eats.

Touch. The bed sheets scratch against his skin, making him almost itchy. Reaching up to his face, he feels the growth. It's not abnormally long, which isn't what gives him pause. It's unusually short.

* * *

He glances, more out of habit than anything else, to where House's room is situated opposite where they stand. When he sees the hand move to the face, he starts, his body moving without asking his brain what it's doing.

* * *

As Foreman enters the room, his eyes finally peer open again. He almost says something before he sees her behind the station. Her hair is astonishingly light blonde, ridiculously wavy, and cut just two inches past her shoulders. Even from this distance, he can see the lines around her mouth and the beginning hint of a crease in her forehead. He wonders how she'd matured so quickly. He also wonders how she'd gained that plump bosom, barely hidden by her dark green blouse.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Get that damn light out of my eyes! I'm fine."

Foreman looks on dubiously as the man begins to sit up.

"I need you-."

"Six, eleven, fifty-nine. Gregory House reported for duty. Now, tell me what happened before I fire you."

There's a moment's hesitation as he closes his mouth, catching the slip and lowering the file.

"What was that?"

House sighs, frustrated as he begins to lean forward to grab the file in Foreman's hand.

"I _said-_."

It's then that she must have gotten over her shock because she moves four steps away from the station that had hid most of her body. At first, it doesn't register.

She's Cameron. She's the littlest duckling. She's the weakest. She's Cameron.

His mouth drops open of its own accord and she stops suddenly in the middle of the corridor, noticing his reaction. He can almost breathe her breaths, though it's utterly impossible.

The brightness of her face, dims in one flashing moment. Hesitantly, her hands go to the sides her belly, swollen and round under the white doctor's coat.

"What the _hell_ happened to me, Foreman?"

* * *

**A/N: So...there's honestly no telling when I'm going to update or how frequently I will. Or even if I will. In any case, I know the House coma has been done before, and probably much better than I will attempt, but I've had this idea since Chapter 12 of "Almost."**


	2. Who's your daddy?

**A/N: So, disclaimer. Yeahno, don't own House M.D. **

**And there's a McVeigh reference that could offend some people, being from Oklahoma, I get how it could. But I'm keeping it in character with House, so hopefully, it's not totally distateful. Forgive me if it is. If you can't, well then get over it, quit reading, and buh bye.**

* * *

"What it be, Jay dawg?" 

"How you doing?"

"If I have to hear that one more t-time, I'm going McVeigh on this hellhole."

Wilson sighs as he sits in the not unusually vacant chair beside House's bed.

"So, you start physio tomorrow?"

"Nope, just gonna let my already wasted legs waste away more. Just think how hot I'd be in a flame p-p-painted wheelch-chair. Damn it."

"Once you get to berating again, which we know you will, the stuttering should subside."

"Well, jeez, Dr. Wilson! Thanks!"

The fake smile he'd plastered on his face vanished with something close to a snarl.

"How can you be pissed? You died_ twice_ on the way here! And then you were in a coma we didn't think you'd come out of! Be... happy!"

"I'm supposed to be _happy_ that I can't walk, can barely talk, a-a-and don't remember anything past Chase and C-Cameron de-purifying the closet?"

"Oh whatever. You," is all that manages to escape his mouth before he hastily shuts it. Running a hand through his hair, he hopes House won't catch it.

"What?"

"You should rest."

* * *

"So, you quit?" 

"Yes."

"Because you were...me?"

"Because I didn't want to be _like _you."

House smirks as Foreman waits for him to put the small pictures in order again.

"Why is that funny?"

He shrugs as he places Lucy holding the kite after Lucy opening the box. "Foreman, you've," he frowns, "been like me since you were eight."

* * *

"So, miss the masogonistic comments?" 

"That would be a no."

"Well, I missed looking at those honeydews."

Cuddy smiles tightly as she wishes she hadn't picked this blouse out with him in mind.

"And I missed having to bail your ass out of prison."

"That's so cool."

"What? You going to jail?"

"No, you've got this gray hair-."

* * *

"So, I fired you?" 

"Yep."

They stare at each other.

"Oh." House nods.

Chase looks down at his fingers briefly. "I wasn't going to see you."

He's quiet a moment. "Really?"

The surgeon looks up, blue eyes more stormy than he realizes. His pager interrupts the moment.

* * *

"So, you're my new team?" 

"Yeah," they answer at once.

He doesn't care about any of them. The trio stand, hands in lab pockets, one of them rocking on his heels. Well, he might care about the girl. She's pretty hot, he thinks. Nah, he doesn't care about any of them.

"I guess," he mutters, a touch unsettled.

* * *

"So, prego?" 

"Nope, ate a kid a couple of hours ago. Still digesting." She attempts a smile. "Yeah, I'm pregnant."

"How far?"

"Twenty-four weeks along. Almost six months."

"I can't walk. My brain can still add."

"Sorry."

"I figured you'd come sooner."

"Oh?"

"Well, you were about to run in here earlier when I w-woke up."

She remembers well what happened. "We thought you wouldn't come out of it."

"And then you turned away, belly and all."

"I had to go tell Wilson."

"Nine hours ago."

"I got busy working in the E.R."

"Still, I was damaged before, now I'm a-a trainwreck. I should be irresistible."

The just beginning silence makes her ears burn. Her hands move to rest on the top of her belly.

"Who's the lucky winner?" he asks, giving in to temptation.

"Of what?"

"The spawn inside blonde Mother Teresa."

She looks down at her watch, hesitation around her lips. "I've got a ride to catch."

"You don't want to tell me."

Standing slowly, she knows there's a world of difference from him asking that and him saying that. He's trying to read her, and she doesn't want him to.

"No," she replies, as she sees Wilson walking down the hall, making his way to the room. "Good night, House."

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I know. He's already told Foreman that. That's the point...right? What else does he remember?**


	3. Excuse me?

**A/N: Edited for clarity! Also, yeahno, don't own that danged thing called House M.D.**

* * *

Three days pass too slowly for him, but it does pass. It passes with shiny balloons, small teddy-bears, two three foot get well cards, another three dozen regular, sappy cards, and then there are the flowers.

His nose wrinkles in distaste as the nurse eyes them appreciatively in her arms before walking out, barely missing Wilson walking in.

"Where are all your gifts?"

"Cuddy's office."

"I guess," Wilson mutters as he sits with his lunch.

They eat in silence, like everyday this week. He's been the only faithful visitor.

"You guys seem pretty chummy."

"Who?"

"You and Cameron."

Wilson stops, his spork mid-air, as realization begins to dawn.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You've given her a ride home every night, and she hasn't seen me."

Wilson presents a forced smile. "A lot of people haven't seen you."

"A lot of people haven't been giving pregnant women rides home."

"I'm _so_ not having this conversation with you," Wilson says, his head turning towards the t.v.

"Why?" he asks, more than curious at Wilson's sudden turn of secrecy.

"I," he stops, looking at the man sitting in bed, remembering looking at him lying down in bed, never knowing if his friend would limp again. Wilson sighs, his moment of weakness quickly approaching, but fighting it all the same.

"You've...got to be careful about this, House. Don't ask if you don't really want to know."

He waits, wanting and at the same time, not wanting House to keep the pressure on. There's a momentary shift in his eyes, and Wilson knows that something's changed. He watches his friend go back to eating his lunch, not saying another word, and so he follows suit, wondering when Pandora's Box would open.

* * *

He sleeps, though at this point, it's more like he's waking. Physio's exhausting, though he'd never tell a soul. In this limbo-like state, he thinks about what brought him here. Some punk kid, high on Tina made from his basement, is the reason he's lost almost a year of memories. 

Foreman's given him the facts, though the evening in question is nowhere close to being remembered. It frustrates him, almost more than his physio because he's always prided himself on his mind.

The whisper of clothes swishing together makes him still his thoughts. The smell of citrus wafts to his nose, and suddenly there's something needling its way through. It's like having that useful word on the end of your tongue, there but not there, playing you.

"You're pathetic."

"Excuse me?"

His eyes open, his head turns, and he looks at her. "You couldn't resist, could you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why are you here?"

She blinks, his harsh tone more abrasive than she remembers.

"Fine, I'll leave."

Bracing herself on the chair, she begins to pull herself up.

"Just sit down, sit down. I'll never hear the e-end of it from Gina if you pass ou-out from exertion."

She sits heavily, her breath already coming fast.

"How's the physio going?"

"I'll be running by next week."

"I guess," she replies, her fingers interlocked over her stomach.

Without thinking about it, he fingers the bald, thin slant in the curve of his eyebrow.

"You haven't remembered anything?"

He wonders where the sudden tentativeness in her voice comes from. "Nope."

Realizing what he's doing, he drops his hand.

"How's the E.R.?"

"Busy," she shrugs her shoulders, "sometimes not so busy."

"Like your hair."

"Blonde is my natural color. And I don't care if it makes me look like a hooker, so don't call me one."

His frown makes her realize that she's gotten ahead of herself. She wonders if she'll ever get used to it. She also wonders what she's going to tell him when he does remember, if he does.

"You told me that...when you first saw me after I came back. That, and that my job was too beneath me."

"It is."

She smiles wryly, her head shaking. He never could get over that. He also can't seem to get over her burgeouning abdomen.

"Quit asking people who the father is of _my_ child."

"I'm just curious as to who-who's genes are swimming in there."

She stands while holding her breath, not wanting to miss her doctor's appointment upstairs. "I'm not going to be your little puzzle because you're bored and lying holed up in bed."

"What else is there to do?"

At the door, she turns slightly. "Think about what to say to your parents when they come tomorrow. That should keep you occupied."

Through the glass panes, he watches her walk away, and he's not the only one. Chase is also watching her departure in another room across the hallway before averting his eyes back to the patient in the wheelchair.

He knows that look. It's love, though more accurately, it's called longing.

Then it clicks, somewhere, somehow. Cameron and Wilson had said, 'I guess' in exactly the same tone. He forgets he'd also said it three days earlier.

"Where'd Dr. Cameron go?"

"E-bay. Checking the bid on the kid."

Gina looks pointedly at him before making sure his IV machine is dispensing the correct amount.

"I swear. The only woman who'd eat lunch with you every day, and you say something like that about her. Tsk."

"Excuse me?"


	4. Secretive Saint Cameron

He'd made sure to hide the Vicodin under his pillow. It'd been a good choice considering his father had inspected every nook and cranny of his private room. His mother had stayed by his side, always keeping at least one finger on her son.

Rubbing his forehead, he sighs freely, finally alone. He could replay the conversation in his mind.

* * *

"_How are you, Greg?"_

"_Besides the not remem-membering over a year of m-my l-life? Not b-b-being able to walk? Talking like a-a-an idiot? Great."_

"_Son, you could be dead, or worse, a vegetable."_

_He watches his mom's lips slide downward in a frown as she tightens her hold on his hand. _

"_I know," he replies simply to his still standing father. _

_For the rest of the hour they're with him, he bites haltingly into each answer he tries to give. Blythe keeps touching his face. His father keeps eyeing him analytically._

_One foot out the door, John stops, waving his wife ahead. With a slight turn of his body, he looks at his son. "The way I see it, this amnesia, could be the best thing to happen to you, Greg. God's giving you a second chance to make things right with people. In your case, a lot of people."_

* * *

Or he could talk to the person across the hallway, checking up on his post-op patient.

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" 

"Have a seat."

He crosses his arms, skepticism written over his handsome features. "I'm okay."

"What's the-the deal with you and Cameron?"

The surgeon hides his reaction well, no doubt having learned a few tricks from the master.

"If this is it-."

"You the dad? Couldn't c-commit?"

The air suddenly turns solid as Chase clenches his mouth shut. The young man's lips quirk at the ends, a not quite frown easily mistakable for a trying smile. He notes the same blue eyes becoming too stormy for his usual aloof attitude.

"I don't..." he shakes his head and sighs softly as if struggling with the right words, or maybe something else. "If she wanted everyone to know, she'd have told everybody."

He never takes his eyes off Chase. "Can't you just s-say no?"

Chase shrugs, a little too indifferently.

"Take it however you like," he says, leaving the room.

* * *

"You need to stop it!" 

He glances up from the journal, but soon goes back to reading. A few short words later and he finds the pages being gripped by her hands and finally finding hell in her left hand.

"Did you hear me?"

"No," he whispers loudly.

Her cheeks, burning red, turn an impossible shade darker. Her soft mouth hardens into a line that tells him she means business. But her deep breathing from all the exertion, makes him smile.

"Hey! Newly awa-wakened cr-crippled coma guy!"

She plants a solid one on his still strengthening arm with his journal in her clenched fist. He's shocked at first because he can't believe she'd hit him. In the next instant, she's let the journal fall to the floor, and gently examines his upper arm.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't like her being so close to him. He catches her eyes. He'd also be lying if he said it didn't unnerve him.

"I'm a big boy. I'll heal," he says, pulling away from her.

Straightening, she puts her hands on her lower lack. She stares down at him, a touch mad at herself for lashing out at him. That's when she remembers why she had. It's not all hormones.

"I'm going to ask you, one time, to please leave my business alone."

"Or what? You'll kill me with a phone book? Wilson knows someone with an illustrated Bible. He's got my back."

"I'm not joking, House." Her tone suddenly becomes tired and she resists the urge to rub her eyes. "If you've got to ask and be nosy, then leave Chase out of it."

"Why?"

Her silence, that penetrating stare, and he's interested more now than ever.

"Just...this one thing, House. This_one_ thing, and I'll do anything you want besides telling you who the father is."

"Why the whole quiet conspiracy? There's got to be a reason."

"If there is, then it's my reason. _My_ reason and mine alone."

"Which is why it's so interesting. Why would innocent, sweet, saint, Cameron need this hidden?"

"I'm tired of people asking me all these stupid questions." She takes a step closer to his bed. "All I'm asking is for you to leave Chase alone about this. He doesn't deserve it."

"What happened with you two?"

Without thinking, her hands move to where his left hand is resting beside his leg. The jerk as she catches her motion saves her even more questions.She realizes she needs to leave, and does just that.

* * *

**A/N: So...everyone have a Happy Hughsday? I heard the ep wasn't that great...and only what, 3 seconds of a silent Cam. IDK, I didn't get to watch it. Anyways, so next chap I'll reveal what happened...except for what led up to it...you'll see what I mean. Thanks reviewers. Thanks silent readers. **

** And going off on a tangent, after chap 12 of "Almost" I was going to have this kind of story happen...but it didn't flow with character death. Well, then I was going to scrap "A Missing Poem" and take this story line, and call it "A Forgotten poem." It was just awesome when I was thinking about it...but then I wouldn't have been able to do this whole Cameron/Secret thing...so well, just wanted to get that out of my head. LOL. Sorry guys.  
**


	5. No, Wilson

Sitting in the wheelchair, he whistles haltingly, giving the illusion he's stopped to be weird. In reality, his arms are killing him and he's giving them a break. He gets especially loud as Gina looks down her glasses at him, a knowing look on her face. By then, he's saved by Wilson.

"Finally! How 'bout a push?"

"How 'bout a 'please?'"

"Don't make me tell Gina on you. Oh, G-Gina!"

"Okay, okay! Jeez. I wish Brenda were your nurse. She wouldn't care if I made you push yourself," he mutters, flashing the female a nurse an apologetic smile before pushing his friend down the hallway to the elevators.

"So, what have you and your gal p-pal been saying a-b-bout me?"

Wilson can't help but draw out his sigh and lean heavily on the guiding bars.

"The gal pal you're referring to would be?"

"Prego..._Camero_?"

"Ew, no, House. And she told you to quit asking questions."

"So you _have_ been talking about me. And she asked me to quit talk-k-king to Chase."

"You _are_ the center of the universe. And I'm pretty sure she'd like you to quit quizzing the staff. So would Cuddy, actually."

Wilson leans over to open his door and pushes House close to his desk before moving to sit down.

"Did you talk to the police?"

"I've never seen Foreman do a-a neural exam so fast." He frowns, not knowing he's feeling that scar in his eyebrow once again.

Lowering his pen, he forgets about his prescription pad for the moment. "Did you remember anything?"

"Some kid, barely 18, high from homemade T-Tina, that's meth-."

"I know what Tina is, House."

"Of course you do. I was standing outside a-at three in the morning in July when Tinak-kid came walking with his rabies infected m-mutt. Dog came to me, distracted me f-for a second, and Tinakid got the-the go o-on me. Got a little too freaked ou-out and figured he'd have to d-d-do me in for good. Hence the coma. My poor wittle cw-cwanium. Otherwise, boring."

"Is that what they told you?"

"That's what I know."

"What? What does...you don't...what?"

"Hey, you're stealing my stu-stuttering."

"Do you remember or not?"

He waits tentatively, fighting the urge to get up and pace around the room. The silence he meets on the other end of his desk from the wheelchaired man makes his heart begin to pound.

"I...,"House folds his hands together before looking point blank at Wilson. "I can't believe you kept it a secret from me this whole time."

His face remains solid, realization and reaction stunted for the moment because of shock. Finally, he regains some function.

"You're not mad?"

"I," he stretches that one letter word out, "don't know. I mean, I'm not ha-happy. You're supposed to be m-my friend, but then you keep this fr-from m-me when I wake up."

Wilson exhales and tilts his head just the slightest, his eyes squinting in the action.

"You should be mad."

"Really?" He begins to examine the odds and ends on Wilson's desk.

Elbows on the desk, he relaxes. "You _don't_remember, do you?"

House holds up a key chain with a frog on it. "I do."

"No, if you did, you would've either, a) raised hell or b) gone back into the coma. Nice try, though."

They stare at each other again before House rolls his eyes.

"You're not any fun."

"So you've told me before. Hey!"

His hands may have lost some strength, but they're still quick. Barely missing Wilson's hands, he holds the picture, hidden under a Lupus book, close to his chest as Wilson stands.

"House!"

"What the hell?"

"House!"

He manages to grab the picture out of House's almost stiff fingers, though there really is no point to it now. He can only stare at House, who in return, can only stare at him.

_"No..._way."

"House-."

"Th-that's a s-sonogram."

"I thought it was a Rorschach test. Tricky doctors these days."

"Why do _you_ have it?"

Wilson can't think of a reason that wouldn't look shady, and so he stumbles over his next words. "It w-was given to to m-me."

"Oh my God." House puts a hand over his eyes, dots connecting in his mind. "C-Camer-r-ron?!"

"No."

"_Cameron?!_"

"It's not like that, House."

He uncovers his eyes, not sure what to say for a brief minute, needing to digest this piece of news. Finally, he speaks into the tense quiet.

"You are _not_ marrying her."

* * *

**A/N: A few nights ago, after thinking about where to go with this story, it hit me like a stone hitting a windshield, that Hameron is over. It used to be the Hameron ship waging war against the Huddy ship...and now it's a Hameron life boat with one kid-sized paddle and a rotting spot in the middle of the floor, watching the Huddy's in the middle of the ocean. **

**I was so close to jumping out altogether. I thought about how up until the middle of the 3rd season, we had good Hameron moments...and then it just stopped. After watching "It's a Wonderful Lie," I still felt that way, except something had happened. I went to the dark side and am now not totally against Chameron. I know! I think Cameron could have a good thing with Chase..._sigh..._I know! **

**And then I read the latest article in the TV Guide, and when I read what HL said about how House feels about Cameron, I was slightly uplifted. So, I'm still hanging in here. Hopefully, all I need is to watch some season 1-2 moments and coast off those for a while. Anyways, I'm sorry to put all this here, but I need encouragement, I guess. I don't know right now. Anyways, thanks guys for all the reviews! It keeps my spirits up. **


	6. You are not marrying him

"You are _not_ marrying…him."

He frowns as Foreman looks at him incredulously.

"I'm pretty sure that won't be happening any time soon, House."

"I thought this was Cameron's--."

"You just missed her."

"I would not miss a pregnant w-woman."

Quietly, Foreman apologizes to the near sixty year old man sitting on the examining table.

"House, get out!"

* * *

"You are _not_ marrying…him! What the hell are you-you doing here?" 

"I used to think it was called examining a patient. What the hell are you doing here?"

House sighs in frustration as he wheels himself out of the exam room.

Chase shakes his head and picks up the file where he'd laid it beside the blonde woman.

"Sorry about that. I don't know what he was talking about."

"Oh, don't worry." She flicks her manicured hand in the air. "I haven't been a 'him' for two years."

* * *

"You are _not_…marrying him. Where--." 

"House!"

Cuddy quickly jerks her hands away and draws the sheet over the woman's legs before leaning back to tell him to leave.

"You bett…" her voice trails off as she sees him already moving past the door.

* * *

"You are _not_ marry-!" He stops as the woman turns around, revealing she isn't Cameron. 

"I _am_ Mary? Do I know you?"

Instead of answering her, he turns around and heads out of the cafeteria, thoroughly annoyed at the missing pregnant woman.

"House, are you alright?"

Her voice stops him in the middle of the hallway. Slowly, he turns his wheelchair to face where she stands by the bathroom door.

"Where the hell have you b-been?!"

Her eyes blink and her hands go to her full hips.

"Do you know h-h-how many times I-I-I wasted a p-perfectly g-good opening?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You are not marrying him," he says unenthusiastically. "See? It's lost all its jazz!"

"I'm not marrying who?"

"You don't have to keep hiding it."

"I don't even," she throws her hands up, "know what you're talking about."

"Wilson has a sonogram of _your_ kid!"

"So?"

His face obviously tells her that the meaning is beyond obvious. She realizes a few people are starting to stare at them, and so she steps closer to him.

"What are you trying to get at?"

"You're having Wilson's kid. He's going to try to make an honest woman out of you."

She can't help but let her mouth fall open slightly.

"He…told you that?"

"The marrying part? No. But he told me you gave the sonogram to him as _a friend_. He's lying."

"But he never said…?"

"Doesn't matter. He's protecting someone and that someone is you."

"Who would I need protecting from?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

The rapid beeping emitting from her pager draws her focus away as she unhooks it.

"I have to go," she says, already half power-walking, half skipping to the E.R.

* * *

"They finally got you out of that wheelchair?" 

He quits twirling his cane and looks at her.

"I may have ripped some hair, bit some flesh, killed a man," he shrugs noncommittally and seeing her smile, can't help but think that Wilson's going to screw this up.

"You better sit down. You look like you-you're going to fall for-forward."

She walks into the room, sits down, and closes her eyes as her feet are finally free of weight. The pink scrub top she's been wearing pulls around her belly and she momentarily thinks she'll have to go up yet another size tomorrow.

"I'm getting fat."

He looks at her healthier looking face, her finally almost fleshed out arms, and the still growing breasts he found himself admiring even more than Cuddy's.

"It's about time you fatten u-up anyways. You were getting t-too thin…from wh-what I reme-member at least."

They don't look at each other. He starts twirling his cane again, his eyes watching the muted television. She folds her hands over her belly, stares at the ceiling, and fights the fatigue coming over her bones.

"I'm not marrying Wilson."

He pauses. "He asked you?"

"No. I'm just saying. I won't marry him. And not because you told me not to."

He feels something close to relief, not only because now he won't have to lie to her about Wilson's inevitable indiscretions, or because he won't have to see her try to fix his needing neediness. He's sure it's not because he wants Wilson all to himself, or that he wants her all to himself as well.

"Mmmm," she opens her eyes. "I just got off an 18 hour shift. I better get home while I can still function."

"Cameron…."

He stops because he doesn't even know why he wants to ask her why she ate lunch with his comatose body. She was Cameron. Of course she would.

She manages to stand and ignores the crack of her back before waiting for him to finish his thought.

"Nice rack."

* * *

**A/N: So, many many thanks to you guys. I'm still shipping Hameron and am now paddling my way back to the ship...hopefully I don't get tired. Hopefully Huddy happens while my eyes are closed and Cate doesn't come back for a recurring role. **

**Anyways, seriously...do you guys think I can spoil all the fun and tell you who the babydaddy is? LOL, I just can't...not yet...loved some of you guys' suggestions though. They made me laugh! **


	7. General Hospital, eat your heart out

**A/N: Dunno if I've done this yet. Don't own House M.D., any of the characters. yaddayaddayadda**

* * *

One case down.

He takes a generous bite out of his peanut butter-jelly sandwich and stares at the almost entirely covered white board. A simple case of severe vitamin B12 deficiency masking as MS/Parkinson's/Sarcoidosis might not be very mind bending, but any case was better than the thought of clinic duty.

"Congratulations."

"Only took me 32 hours. Should have taken me three minutes."

"You're rusty. I think it's allowed."

She rests against the door frame, not sure why she's made the trek up to his room. Watching him begin to erase the board with one hand, her stomach rumbles and she's slightly embarrassed.

"Godzilla's hungry. Here."

The half eaten sandwich in his outstretched arm, given so nonchalantly, makes her smile. She takes it, biting into it heartily, licking her thumb at a goop of peanut butter left on the bread.

"Thank you."

"Where've you been?"

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't seen me in a week. Wilson hasn't driven you home in a week. Trouble in paradise?"

"I had two days off and I _do_ have a department to run."

"I wouldn't call the ER a department you run."

"I'm a senior attending, technically _you_, in a fast paced, dirty, dangerous, emergency field, which could parallel to the one case a week you take on."

"Not sold. ER's not _that_ busy, unless it's the show."

He wheels himself so that he can face her instead of the white board.

"You ate with me. Why?"

"When? Now?"

"No, while I was dreaming of Jeannie."

The blank look on her face makes him shake his head. "You're old enough to remember that navel."

"I know the show but I don't understand the question."

"I was in a coma. You ate lunch. With me. Nearly everyday. Got it?"

"So did Wilson."

"He loves me; it's expected."

Her head tilts, the sandwich rests between three fingers precariously.

"You, on the other hand, should not have been eating with me. I'm no longer your boss. I don't respect you or your job. So, why does Wonder Cameron eat lunch in a coma patient's room?"

"Pity, of course."

"Pity?"

The last bit of the peanut butter/jelly sandwich snakes into her mouth and she nods. " You were...helpless, in a coma, and I wanted to fix you. I had to focus my efforts somewhere."

"Could've focused on Chase."

"We were finished by then. It was plain pity."

"So, it was a series of pity dates?"

"Miserable, stubborn, single, abrasive man falls into a devastating coma to be visited by no one except a Dean of Medicine, his terrified team, and an oncologist. I was putty."

It made sense. It made too much sense.

"You're not denying it?"

"Why would I?"

"You've been saying for three years you're not addicted to neediness. Now you've turned about."

"House, I'm about to do the hardest thing in the world - become a parent. I don't have time to play around with my insecurities anymore."

* * *

He wheels around the corner, barely dodging Cuddy's legs and her deafening, "House!" 

"Hospital Crisis! I'm missing General Hospital!"

Breathless, he keeps pulling himself onwards. And then he sees them together in the hallway, outside of his office. She's holding a few files in her right hand and with the other, is positioning his hand over her alien-hijacked abdomen. The smile that crosses Wilson's face is genuine, causing the edges of his eyes to show his crow's feet. Her hand never uncovers his, and his hand never fights to be free.

They laugh and Wilson issues a barely heard, "wow."

House watches carefully, not sure why his fingers suddenly tingle at the thought of resting upon--. His thoughts hesitate as he watches Chase slowly walking down the long corridor, never taking his eyes off of them.

She sees him first and immediately lowers her hand from Wilson's. Wilson looks at the surgeon, removes his hand from her stomach, and nods his head at Chase.

"Surgery go well?"

He nods his head as well, clearly not looking at Cameron. "I managed to get all of it, though I had to give her a total hysterectomy since it'd spread since the last scan. She'll be awake in a few minutes. You should be there."

Chase finally looks in her direction, though it's more her belly that has his attention first. For a brief moment, they hold each other's stare, neither saying a word to other, Wilson glancing between them.

"Guys," Wilson interjects, "if this is going to end up like last time..."

"No," Chase replies shortly, "it's not going to be a problem."

House watches Chase turn and walk away, his steps quick and long with repressed anger. He swallows a vicodin. This was definitely worth missing the first five minutes of his story.

* * *

**A/N: So...so...so...I've heard you guys' theories. One I haven't heard though, is that Cam's a surrogate for Chilson. Anyways, I'm thinking about it, and yes, I know who the dad is. ;) **


	8. Why Pie?

**A/N: Disclaimer. _Mr. Shore _owns House. **

"That is _so_ something I would do."

Wilson holds the controller back, and brings it forward simulating a bowling ball throw, all while replying, "I know. We all lived through it."

"Seriously, I'm genius."

"I'm the one who convinced Cuddy this Wii game was the only way you'd go through PT. I'm genius."

"Get me out of PT for my legs, and _then_ you'll be the genius. Until then, eat my bowling ball smoke."

"You know what? You ripped off the Survivor thing, so it doesn't technically make you a genius." Wilson's turn ends in a spare.

"From what I remember, it was awesome. Don't hate, Wilson. Appreciate."

A snort is issued from the oncologist as he watches House yet again, reach a strike.

"Crippled gets a turkey! Crippled is kicking oncologist's ass."

"If Crippled doesn't watch it, Oncologist is going to tell the Dean that Crippled is ready for clinic duty. Come on, it's your turn again, invalid."

"I don't remember you being this mean."

"All you've remembered is some of your Survival hiring arc. There's a lot you still don't remember."

"Hhmmmm." House ends the game with his last throw ending in a spare. "Fill me in on this whole...Chase/Cameron thing."

"Why?"

"Missed my OTH fix last night."

"If you want to know, ask Cameron. You guys are spending time _together_."

"You guys are the one having the _kid_ together."

"She's not having my kid, House. And you can quit telling the hospital that."

"Aw, is it putting a cramp into your playa thing?"

"I could tell everyone that it's yours."

The utter silence makes Wilson turn his head to the figure of House sitting with his mouth nearly gaping.

"Close mouth, close." Wilson says with his own smirk.

"No one would believe that."

"She loves you, of course they would believe it. Then again, your swimmers are getting old--Ow!"

House smirks as he places his handy cane back onto Wilson's desk.

"Nevermind, you're right, House. They wouldn't believe me."

"Why not?"

"I just can't win, can I?"

* * *

For the first time in almost four months, he sits in his living room. Tapping his fingers on his thigh, he wonders why exactly he's not at home here anymore. Something's different, and he does not like different.

The knock on the door causes him to frown as he wheels himself around to the door. With a curse word on his lips, he pulls the door open, not prepared for who's on the other side.

"Hey."

Nothing comes out of his mouth.

"Are you going to invite me in?"

He thinks about it for a moment, but curiosity wins him over in the end. Scooting back, he allows her ample entrance and watches her shut the door behind her.

"What are you doing here?"

She shrugs her shoulders, her right hand holding a grocery sack, as she walks past him to sit on the couch.

"It's your first day back home. Here."

"What is it?"

"I've heard, and it may just be a rumor, that you have to open it to find out."

He looks at her, something not quite fitting. Finally, he opens the bag.

"Lemon pie?"

"It's like a housewarming gift."

"Pie?"

"Food, yes."

"Why?"

"It's your first day back home," she replies, becoming agitated.

"And you show up at my apartment to bring me pie?"

"What's so wrong with that?!"

"You're being nice...to me."

"I thought you might like it! Forgive me for trying," she takes in a deep breath, fighting the tears, "to be nice!"

"Oh, god," he mutters to himself once he sees her hand go up to cover her eyes. He'd made Cameron cry. He'd made a pregnant woman cry. He'd made a pregnant Cameron cry. "God" might well strike him dead now.

"No!" she somehow says.

She shakes her head, trying to stand but his couch is too soft and she can't quite make it all the way to her feet. Slapping against the back of the chair, she gasps again because she hates him seeing her like this. Before she can stop herself, the tears are nearly flooding her face, and in mortification, she covers her face so she can keep some dignity she doesn't know she's already lost.

He doesn't know what to do. For a second, he thinks about wheeling himself out of the room so she can have her breakdown in quiet. Rolling his eyes, he silently curses his mother for whatever conscience he has and pops two vicodin into his mouth.

"Calm down, Cameron. I like...pie."

"You don't have to say that just be-because I-I," she inhales, "I'm crying all over your couch!"

"Cam--."

"I've gained twenty-five pounds! I can't drink my coffee! Spicy food gives me horrible heartburn! The color green makes me want to puke! My ankles are so huge that I seriously think my socks are cutting off my circulation! And I can't put the stupid crib together because all the pieces won't fit! And then you make fun of me trying to be nice!"

He sits there, blowing air into his mouth and holding it for a few seconds, thinking. He's in quite the dilemma, quite the dilemma.

"How 'bout some pie?"

* * *

**A/N: Wow, just found out dilemma isn't "dilemna." I guess we learn something everyday. Anyways, so I guess this is more about strengthening Hameron than about moving the plot forward...but oh well. Thanks for the awesome reviews guys! Seriously, it lights up my day because I must face Jyoti, a professor who's part Tritter, Vogeler, O.J. Simpson, Robert Blake, Devil, And evil in general. **


	9. Happy? Now you know

**A/N: Bummer. I don't own House M.D.**

**And hey, what no one cares House isn't stuttering anymore LOL. And calm yourselves for what about's to happen. Take a deep breath...and remain calm. Thanks!**

* * *

He watches her, slight amusement crossing his features as she licks her fork clean after her third generous slice. They sit opposite each other, the one in the wheelchair drumming his fingers along his thigh.

"I lied, you know."

Raising his eyebrows, he looks at her, knowing a Cameron lie, is one of the most intriguing.

"I've..." she looks away, "gained 32 pounds."

He doesn't know why, but he cracks a smile, his hand quickly covering it from her view.

"Couldn't tell."

"Yeah, right. You..."

"What's wrong?"he asks, straightening in his chair.

"No...nothing," she replies in a breath. "It's just been a while since Elvis."

"I knew you liked 'em old, but dead? Kinky hormones, Cameron."

Rolling her eyes, she represses the urge to throw the closest thing she can find at him.

"He calms Brennan down."

" 'Brennan?' "

"That's what I'm going to call him, or her."

"Why would you name your kid that?"

"It's the name of one of the characters on my favorite tv show. _I_ like it."

"That kid's going to be a science nerd/geek/loser/outcast/squint. Squint?"

Cameron frowns, mirroring House's.

"Why did you say squint?"

"Dunno."

As hastily as she can, she stands. "I've got to use your bathroom."

* * *

Washing her hands in the sink after relieving herself, she looks in the mirror. Her white empire waisted maternity dress covers her hefty breasts before flowing over her rounded abdomen. Her face is fuller and lighter with the hint of laugh lines around her mouth. The question suddenly comes to her and she momentarily freezes. _What am I doing here?_

Nausea suddenly grips her and she takes hold of the side of the sink. Her breaths become shallow and quick.

"Oh, god. Oh, god."

Bringing a hand down to her abdomen, she gently rubs her stomach, hoping to quell the movements of her child.

"Cameron?!"

"Bren, calm down," she whispers.

"You aren't having the kid, are you?!"

"No! I'm okay!"

As another bout of nausea threatens to empty the recently eaten lemon pie, she suddenly realizes there's music coming from the other side of the door. The nausea beginning to subside, she sits down on the porcelain toilet, gently tapping her foot.

_"You're the devil in disguise. Oh yes, you are."_

A smile crosses her lips as she feels Brennan quit kicking her.

* * *

When she finally emerges from the bathroom, he turns his head.

"Alive?"

"Barely," she smiles. "You're playing Elvis?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he leans back in his wheelchair, watching as she leans against the back of the sofa.

"The King likes an audience every now and then, even if it is Godzilla."

"Brennan."

"Tomayto, tomahto."

"Thank you, House."

The silence he feels crawls under his skin. If she's expecting more from him, she doesn't say anything. Elvis's voice wafts through the air and he finds himself watching her hands lightly pat her belly in beat to the song.

"How are you going to do this?" he asks without thinking.

"Do what?"

"That." He motions to her stomach.

She closes her eyes for a few seconds before opening them to focus on him. She can't help but stare at the one scar adorning his face, right as his left eyebrow begins to curve.

"I've been managing so far." She bites her lip. "I can do this."

He nods slowly. If anyone can do it, it's her.

"On your own?"

"On my own."

"You know, I find it hard to believe, that anyone you would conceive a child with, would leave you to handle this by yourself."

"You're trying to put it all together."

"That's what I do."

"Why does it mean so much to you?"

"I just don't understand it. Who wouldn't want you as their kid's mom?"

Straightening, she clears her throat and smooths her blonde hair down.

"I'm tired. I should be getting home. Thanks for...letting me have some of the pie."

"Does he even know?" He waits a beat. "No, you wouldn't keep something like this from him, no matter who it is."

She takes a few steps forward, and the moment she passes him, he clicks his tongue.

"Unless he does know, and doesn't care."

Her steps halt and he watches her back. He's hit a nerve. Though as she turns around to face him, he's not so sure it's worth it. Her face shows something he's never seen this clear. Heartache.

"Cam--."

"No," she interrupts him, her mouth tight and hard.

"You want to know?" She takes a step forward. "You think it matters?" Another step to him. "You want to solve your stupid puzzle?" There's no more space between them and she looks down at him.

"You really think you knowing is going to change anything?" She searches his face, looking for anything. Reaching beside him to a side table, she picks up the pad of post-its and half used pencil.

"Here you go." She throws the pencil on the table and the pad face down on his lap before leaving his apartment.

Gingerly, his fingers grasp the post-it pad, turning it over. Looking up to where she'd stood, he's not sure what emotion he feels.

_Sebastian Charles_

* * *

**A/N: ...Oh...Snap...  
**


	10. It can't be a recovered memory

"You're playing step-daddy."

Wilson turns his head, seeing House roll up beside him in the lunch line.

"It's an off broadway production. Thought I'd stretch my wings."

"Why?"

"All the obvious reasons. Fame, wealth, the--."

"Why are you trying to be Cameron's babydaddy. Reuben, no pickles."

* * *

"She needed a friend." 

"Of course she did."

"There was, _is_ no ulterior motive, House. And I am in no way shape or form, the babystepdaddy."

"Maybe not now, but once the kid's popped out, you'll be over when she's tired and needs some time to take a shower. You'll be there when the kid's sick because you _care._ You guys will share a laugh when it poops for the first time, think of a punishment when it doesn't eat all the brocolli. It's all leading up to sex."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"The only reason to be the stepbabydaddy is to get some later on!"

Wilson throws his fork down before beginning the staring game with House.

"What?" House asks.

"I _am_ right." He waits.

"You can't _not_ talk to me." Still nothing.

"Fine, but what are you going to do if someone," he shrugs one shoulder, "calls up retarded TB guy?"

The silence from the other side of the table is broken finally.

"Why would you call the TB guy?"

"To find out why dying people in Africa are more important that his kid?"

"Oh...," Wilson blinks lightly before picking up his discarded fork. "You can't do that!"

House frowns and leans back in his wheelchair. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You hesitated. What were you surprised about?"

"What? No, I just, just, d-didn't know that you knew. I mean, Cameron was pretty adamant about no one finding out about the," his hands motion, "uh, uh, you know. And don't tell anyone, House. For once, just shut up about it."

"Did you just threaten me?"

* * *

"_Bone pain suggests osteomyelitis!"_

_Closing his eyes, he shakes his head, taking a deep breath before shouting back, "He's an overweight 72 year old osteoporosis man! Of course he's got bone pain!"_

"_The steroids didn't help with his pain!?"_

"_Nope! Also had truncal rigidity associated with his spine after temporary paralysis!"_

"_What'd Foreman say?!"_

"_He loves me!"_

"_House!"_

"_Not neurological!" Impatient, he picks up the banana, gently beginning to peel it. "MRI showed soft tissue swelling, cystic lesions, of four long bones!"_

"_Sarcoidosis!"_

"_Didn't respond to treatment!"_

"_How long did you let him to not respond to it?!"_

_He can hear the smirk in her voice even from the living room. _

"_Granulo-!"  
_

"_Nope!"_

"_You don't even know--!"  
_

"_You've got," he sticks the banana in his mouth to lift up his shirt to read his watch. "Two minutes and one more clue! CT scan showed white drops of Heaven in his lungs!" _

"_TB wouldnt' show so late!"_

_Hearing her walk out of her bathroom, he throws the peel into the trashcan. _

"_And lung cancer wouldn't present as ostealgia!"_

"_Duh!"_

"_House!"_

"_What?! I'm starving and you're taking forever!"_

"_It's got to be a connective tissue disorder, so...House. House? House!"_

_The light pinch on his arm finally breaks him free from his stare. Her blonde hair is curled just as he likes, covering her bare shoulders. The deep blue dress hugs her body from her chest, small waist, small hips, lean thighs, and ends at her knees, though the slit is high enough that he wonders what she was thinking as she'd bought it._

"_What was that?" he asks._

"_Lupus," she replies, hands on her hips knowing full well what he's looking at._

"_I"m sorry, what?"_

_The smile she displays makes him take a step forward, but her suddenly outstretched hand halts him._

"_Not until you tell me what he had."_

_He grasps her hand on his chest, slowly letting his thumb travel in circles on the softness. _

"_How about we stay in tonight?"_

"_I specifically chose this restaurant because no one would see us and because it's all you can eat night."_

"_I won't tell you then."_

"_Oh," she laughs. "Fine, no sex. Let's play this 'I still work for you' game."_

"_Fine, melioidosis. Happy? Let's do it."_

_Smelling the mellow scent of oranges and grapefruit, he lets his hands caress her hips. _

_The next thing he hears is her voice in his ear. _

"_Whitmore's disease? Unbelievable."_

* * *

He wakes from his position on the comfortable chair in the corner of his office. Rubbing a hand over his face, he sighs frustratedly. Dreaming about Cameron was the last thing he should be doing, especially when she was pregnant with TB guy's lovechild. 

Standing with a groan, he notices the three disciples walking into the conference room, each with a determined look on their face with a matching file in hand. Settling into the wheelchair, the dream already fading into nothingness, a thought crosses his mind before he immediately rejects it.

After all, in order to have a recovered memory, one had to have had experienced it before. And there was no way he had experienced Cameron like in the dream.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, so...very colorful interesting comments from the last chap. Everyone hates TB guy? LOL. I getcha, I really do. Did she lie? Did she tell the truth? I guess you'll find out in the coming chaps, huh? Many awesome thanks to y'all!**

** Oh, yeah, just a side note my friend reminded me of yesterday. This whole thing is happening as a 5th season bit. I know, it's kinda weird, but that's the only way it worked. So, House went into his coma around July, woke up around mid October.  
**


	11. Wilson, take a step back

"Hey," she smiles.

Returning the smile, he lifts the bag into view. "Hey, brought some food."

"Well, I just ate," she replies, eyeing the bag while opening the door wider for him to come through.

* * *

Two hamburgers, a chicken wrap, one set of potato wedges, three corn dogs, and two chunks of rice crispies later, they sit almost opposite each other in her small living room.

"Wilson, thank you."

He raises his eyebrows, his head comfortably resting on the head rest of his chair.

"For the near food coma? You're welcome."

Smiling, she closes her eyes when he does. The silence is one she's come to expect when they're together, mostly because too much talking leads to too many questions she's not ready to answer.

"How's the new apartment search going?"

"Alright, I guess. I haven't found the right one yet. One was too far. The other was too close. Another one was too high. And one smelled like...pepperjack cheese."

"You don't have too much time left."

"I know," she answers, annoyed.

"If you need help with it, I can help you."

"I'm fine."

"You're about to be single mother in a too small apartment with a demanding job. It's okay to need help."

"Mom, I'm sure I can handle it."

"Pshaw."

The silence covers them again, and this time he decides to push it.

"This is...getting complicated."

She mulls it over in her head. To answer, or not to answer?

"Too much for your strong shoulders?"

"Deflection. Fantastic."

"I'm not deflecting."

"You were."

"Wasn't!"

"Fine."

He exhales softly, opening his eyes. She'd hit her 27 week mark just a few days ago. They'd celebrated it with donuts when she'd gotten off work at the local shop. At the time, he'd sat in awe as she managed to eat twelve in a row. This time, he sits in awe of how beautiful she is, and of how unaware of it she is.

"It's _too _complicated," he repeats.

Hesitantly, she opens her eyes, her brow furrowing gently as she thinks.

"I know."

"Chase..."

"Yeah."

"Me..."

"Yes."

"Sebastian Charles..."

"Definitely."

"House..."

"I know."

"Your answers are very telling."

Standing with a huff, she braces her hands on her back and begins to pace around the room.

"I know!"

"Cameron..."

"Wilson..."

"I'm just saying, what are you going to do when your child is born? What are you going to say?"

"I don't know!"

"You've only got--."

"I know how long I've got! I see what the problem is! I get that I screwed up everything!"

One hand goes to cover her mouth as she stops behind him, trying to stay the tears she's been fighting all day.

Hearing her halted breaths, he rises from the chair and turns around to see her trying to hold it in. Putting his hands on his hips, he mentally thinks about ending all the lies so they can stop lying themselves. Walking steadily towards her, he takes her by her upper arms and pulls her to him until he feels her belly make contact with his own. Keeping her close to his shoulder, he frowns.

"It's okay. I'm sorry."

"No, no," she shakes her head. "You're right. I just...I just don't know what I'm going to do."

"You will."

Before she lets herself get comfortable, she pulls away, reaching for the kleenex box on the counter. After blowing her nose, she crosses her arms over her chest loosely, looking intensely at him.

Softly, her lips barely moving, "He left me."

One hand in his pocket and the other brushing through his hair tiredly, he sighs.

"Not technically."

"I told him...and he didn't say a word to me. He left me there, alone in my own kitchen."

"To think, Cameron. I mean, he didn't expect for you to get pregnant."

"Neither did I. And now he's gone and I have to deal with this."

"You can't hide from him forever. One day, he'll---."

"What? Change his mind? Suddenly think, I'm going to stop what I've been doing my whole professional life? I'm going to settle down in New Jersey in a new apartment and raise our kid?"

"If you never give him a chance, then of course not!"

Leaning back against the counter, she takes in his frame, suddenly just needing to break free of what she's been thinking these past few months.

"Do you really want me to?"

"Of course I do."

"Or do you _want_ me to keep quiet, stay pained, stay hidden so you and I can share in this? Do you like all the secrecy? Holding me together? Loving the way I'm screwed and need help?"

"That's incredulous! You...you know what," he raises his hands. "I'm leaving now. I'll see you at work Monday."

The door shuts, and for an instant she's strong by herself. Then her stance crumbles. She reaches again for the tissue, knowing she'll need them after she calls Sebastian.

* * *

**A/N: Oh, my lovely, lovely reviewers and readers. If it weren't for you guys, I'd seriously be a girl with no ship, a girl with no love for House, a girl with no esteem to post. So thank you, for with your support, is the only way I can write. **

**LOL. I'm watching the Oscars. Javier Bardem won! No Country For Old Men better win too!! If you're thoroughly confused with what's going on after this chap, don't be worried. I think you're supposed to be since I'm trying to stay suspenseful. **


	12. It's all screwy

**A/N: Disclaimer. Fox/Shore owns HouseM.D.**

* * *

"_House, I need to talk."_

"_You're not pregnant are you? I told you--."_

"_It's over."_

_He leans heavily against the door frame, taking in his heartbroken friend. Turning away, House hears the heavy footsteps following him and then the solid thud as the door is closed. In the kitchen, he pulls out two beers, and wanders back to see Wilson sitting dejectedly on the couch._

"_Here." He throws one beer._

"_Thanks."_

_The two pop open the tops at the same time, chug at the same pace, and then manage the half-sigh half-gag. _

"_You know...I don't know what I thought was going to happen."_

"_Of course you did. You were going to marry her, even though she didn't believe in marriage."_

"_I wasn't."_

"_I'm pretty sure your past behavior is a good indicator of your future behavior."_

_Wilson leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "She didn't have to take the job."_

_House doesn't make eye contact with him. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on the reality show playing on his television set. _

"_You told her to take it."_

"_I was being...me! If it's what she wants then, yeah. I just...I just..."_

"_You just what? Thought she was the one? Thought she thought you were the one?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_Sure you do. I found it in one of your desk drawers. Why would you keep--."_

"_You went through my desk!?"_

"_Sorry, was I not supposed to?"_

"_House!" He stands, hands shoved down his pockets with shoulders high as he begins his pacing. "God!" He stops and loosens his tie even more. "What the hell were you doing snooping?!"_

"_Why do you suddenly seem surprised that I crossed your personal boundary?"_

"_This was supposed to be between me and her!"_

"_That was then. What about now? You're here. I'm involved. Get over it."_

_Just as the tension reaches its crest, Wilson covers his face with his hands for a long drawn out breath. The fight leaves him._

"_I was going to ask her tonight." His hands fall to his sides, useless. "And she told me she was taking the position in London. And then that long distance relationships are...futile." Turning away, he rubs the back of his neck, his voice suddenly far away. "I thought she wanted me. I thought she'd choose me. She chose her job."_

"_No."_

_He waits for Wilson to turn and look at him._

"_You're good, Wilson. You gave her what she needed; she gave you what you needed." His shoulders shrug. "It's a symbiotic relationship that was about to verge on parasitism. She let you go."_

_For a long passing of ticking seconds, he's not sure what he can say. House saying something that was near to encouraging? _

"_You're being...understanding?"_

"_Nope. Just the quicker you get to flirting with nurse Nancy, the quicker I get two hundred bucks."_

Flipping the small raisin box end over end on the kitchen island, House eyes the vicodin on the other end. Three more flips and he lies the box down to reach for the vial, gulping down two pills to dull the ache in his thigh. Every time he remembers something, the missing muscle tissue screams causing the still there tissue to cry along with it.

Barely nine in the evening, he sighs distractedly. He gets the sense that his body is reeling from something that he can't quite remember. Without thinking, he always reaches for the Bourbon or the Scotch, even when he doesn't want a drink. It's a habit, one he'd acquired long before the vast nothingness of his memory. It used to help him sleep,and now he's asleep by one every night with or without it.

Somewhere, he hears his pager going off. After a few minutes, his cell phone rings. Minutes after that, his home phone rings. The voice is of the girl he calls 13, and at the sound of her voice, his head tilts. The patient had just coded, been declared dead, and then risen from the dead. Nothing new in his line of work.

"You forgot to lock your office door." Click.

"_Oh...my god! You didn't lock the door."_ _She turns away, her mouth still slightly open, surprise still in her eyes._

Grabbing his thigh, he grits his teeth. When had she said that? He can see the near darkness, feel the bottles and rags around him, taste the complete smallness of the room. Then there's a head hiding in his shoulder.

Reaching for the Vicodin, he swallows another one, not even sure he'll be able to stand without it. The pain outweighs the memory, and he decides it's not worth it tonight.

* * *

**A/N: More memories? Okay, trust me, there'll be at least one a chap now. Oh, and it's CTB that that Wilson/House are talking about. And the babydaddy? You guys know I can be quite angsty right? Well...what if in fact...there will be no babydaddy? I'm just saying...you know...you never know what might happen. Thanks for stopping by guys. **


	13. Closets and chemicals

"Hello?"

"TB guy."

"Dr. House, I presume?"

"Are you sure you're not psychic? First this, plus knowing all those millions of people have TB."

"I bet all the people in the world gave a huge sigh of relief when you woke up from your coma."

"Oooh, psychic gets another one right."

"I'm hanging up now."

"Is Cameron really having your kid?"

The pause on the other end gives him time to rest his feet on his desk.

"If she was, I don't think I'd tell you considering it's none of your business. Why do you care?"

"I love her."

House can hear the pure shock from thousands of miles away. "If you seriously believed that, you are no longer my number one psychic."

"You know what?" Sebastian sighs exasperated. "You need to quit being a jerk and leave her alone about this."

"Concern over her welfare? Easy since you're in Africa and not here with her, right?"

"You don't have any right--."

"Neither do you."

"House, believe me. If she'd have me, I'd be there or she'd be here. Now, I have a job to do. Let's not do this again any time soon."

* * *

"It just makes no sense."

"Why not?"

"She's not...stupid enough to fall for _Dr. Charles _again."

"How would you know? You don't remember how she was."

"Besides the point!"

Wilson shakes his head and they keep on walking down the hallway.

"He's a charming guy, House."

"Never trust a man who smells like poo."

"Why is this bothering you so much?"

"Would everyone stop asking me that? For the love of--I was in a coma! I want to hear the gossip again."

Stopping in his stride, Wilson looks back at House.

"Almost three months before you went into the coma, Sebastian Charles came to New Jersey because he was protesting the rising costs of the TB meds. You, being you, went to the conference and asked him how much he valued you saving his life. Of course, he took the high road. Thanked you."

"As he should have."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Let's keep walking."

They take up their trek again.

"And then he came here to see you. He actually wanted you to help him."

"What?"

"I know, right? One of the kids he was treating wasn't responding to the medicine, or any medicine for that matter."

"So, he wanted a consult?"

"Yeah."

"And the whole Cameron thing?"

"Catch-up dinner."

"And?"

"And what?"

"She does not put out on the first date."

Wilson raises an eyebrow. "Just because your first date with her--."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. This is Cameron we're talking about."

"He was here for a week while you tried to diagnose the girl."

"Did I?"

He takes a long time to exhale his breath, and House already knows the answer.

"I didn't, huh?"

"Everything you tried made her worse. The third day, she developed ascending paralysis. There wasn't enough time. Autopsy was inconclusive."

"Symptoms?"

"Do you want the symptoms or the low-down on Cameron?"

"Fine. Go on."

"He stayed another two days, telling the story of Aida, the girl to the press."

"It wasn't TB, though."

"No one else knew that."

"And people think _I'm _an ass."

"You are. Anyways," Wilson shrugs his shoulders as he finally stops walking. "He left. She stayed. This time they kept in contact."

"Ah, so she had her damaged needs fulfilled."

Wilson doesn't bother to respond to the comment. "He came back for a check-up. She told him she was pregnant. He left. Now, we're here."

House leans on his cane, expecting some type of vague realization to come over him. It doesn't.

"That's it?"

"Pretty much. Why?"

Not saying anything, he shakes his head, looking over the railing.

Frowning, Wilson looks around them. "Where were we going?"

"My leg hurt."

"That's good, right? You said it only bothered you more than usual if you were remembering something."

"I'm not remembering..." The smell wafts to his nose, strongly and commanding. Turning around, he doesn't see anyone nearby, but does see the janitor's cart.

* * *

"_That was not good!"_

"_What? It's only 13. Where were we?" He can taste the exposed area of her neck and his hands love the feel of her smooth, bare waist._

_She pulls away, blonde hair slightly tussled because his hands always gravitate to the strands._

"_We're doctors," she screams as a whisper, trying to push away from him. "And if Cuddy--."_

"_You made out with Chase in the closet."_

"_That was different," she huffs, reaching behind him to grab her blouse._

_He sits back against the wall, carelessly watching her fluid movements while the smell of cleaning chemicals permeates his senses. _

"House? You okay?"

House shrugs his friend off, not taking his eyes off the janitor's cart. Another vicodin finds its way into his mouth before his hand goes down to his thigh.

"Are you remembering something? House?"

"I...can't be."

* * *

**A/N:Confused huh? Hopefully this clears it up a little. And the pace is slow. I know. I've known since Chapter 8 that I needed to speed things up, but I'm a detail orientated person. Details interest me. If it's going too slow for you, then by all means, wait until this is finished and then catch up. That's what I do with some stories.**

**And, I'm taking a break from this fic, starting now. I post as I write, thinking of the story as it goes along, which is usually good motivation for me to continue the story. But this time around, I thought about it too much. I know what's going to happen...which kinda means the story is already over for me so...it's kind of like, 'Okay, I'm okay with it.'**

**Hopefully, if I don't think about it, then one day soon, the inspiration to finish it will be too much for me to abandon. Right now, though, I'm meh about it all. Sorry. For those who really want this finished, I will, just not right now. I am working on another House fic though. Thanks for reading so far. And hopefully, thanks for waiting with me. **


	14. Real Chapter 14

**A/N: This is the "REAL" Chapter 14! The last chap was just for kicks...my kicks...and it didn't go well.**

**Disclaimer: DOH **

* * *

So consumed by the absolute ludicrousness of his so called 'memories,' he willingly does his clinic duty for one straight week. Cuddy doesn't mind and in fact thinks, or rather hopes, that his coma has somehow re-wired him. Wilson is suspicious, enough so to remind House every day at lunch, that it's time to get something to eat. 

Watching Brenda note the time he checks out, he doesn't realize her walking up behind him.

The arm sneaks past his shoulder and without second thought, he turns his head to see who had dared get so close to his personal body. The way her eyes refuse to meet his, he knows she's still holding a grudge against him. It doesn't surprise him.

"Dr. Cameron in at 2:24."

"There's a patient in Room 2 waiting for Dr. House. You can take her."

He watches the exchange between nurse and doctor, and as she reaches for the file in Brenda's outstretched hand, he snatches the file before Cameron can. 

"I needed a consult. Come on, prego."

Without waiting for a response, he limps forward only to realize halfway to the exam room, that she hasn't followed him.

"Cameron!"

For a second, she doesn't say anything, still trying to decide if he's being truthful. The doctor in her kicks in at the time and she sighs as she begins to half-waddle, half-walk, to him. Without asking, she takes the file from his hand and keeps walking, merely bothering to glance with irritation at him.

"Ms. Caywood, I'm Dr. Cameron. This is Dr. House."

"I think I have an STD."

Cameron opens her mouth, closes it, and softly turns to House.

"No consult needed. Here you go."

"What? You haven't checked her out."

"House, you're a big boy now. You can diagnose an STD all by yourself."

"Would you get over being mad at me for calling your babydaddy?"

She starts, her hand on the doorknob. "This is not the place!"

"Why not? Cici doesn't mind. Do you?"

"My name's Am-."

"No, you don't!"

"Her name's not Cici and I'm serious. Not now," she grinds out.

"Cici, Dr. Cameron is all pissy because--."

"House!"

"I called her babydaddy last week and asked--."

She grabs his arm, jerking him off the stool and leading him into the small almost hallway separating them from the rest of the clinic.

"You need to stop!"

"You know who needs to stop? You. I'm crippled and you j-j-just yanked me!"

"No," she pokes him in the chest. "You do not get to mess with my kid's life, or mine." She pokes him again. "Leave Sebastian alone. Leave me alone." She ends with one last poke of her finger that he grabs.

"Let go, House."

For some reason, he suddenly feels like he's encountered deja-vu. Letting her finger go, he feels as if it's past evening and they are once again, in some small hallway. She's in the same position, arms crossed beneath her chest, though she's not pregnant in this scene. Her features are hard, demanding something from him that he thinks she should quit asking for. Anger comes from nowhere and directs itself at her.

"What do you possibly expect from me?"

Popping two Vicodin, the irritation reaches a high point as he tries to ignore the suddenly tragic pain in his thigh.

"I mean, seriously? What's wrong with you?"

Where the words are coming from, he doesn't know, and so he stops himself.

Part of what she feels is fear. He's said those exact words in the exact same tone so long ago. The near confusion rippling across his face makes her heart pound harshly. Dear God, he wasn't remembering was he? Why hadn't he told her?

"House, do you know what you're saying?" she asks, her hand suddenly on his arm.

The tremble in her voice elicits panic, and because he can't look at her, he turns away, limping heavily toward the glass doors leading to the lobby.

"House!"

He doesn't know what's going on with him, but he's pretty sure two people have been lying to him this whole time. One is someone he doesn't want to confront yet in case he's extraordinarily wrong. One of them is his only friend, and he's got some explaining to do.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, I bet it's making sense now. I hope so at least. Well, after all the confusion, it just spurred me into action during study hall tonight. So, the drama? It's starting now. I'm gonna guestimate and say 4 more chapters before the inevitable happens. What's the inevitable? Good question. But the next chap is all planned out in my head, and I think it's going to be like duh, but hopefully still great. **

**Sorry for the past confusion! Should I just delete the last fake chap to make it clear? Anyways, thanks!**

**Edit: Fake 14 has been deleted due to possible brain fryation. Back to original programming. **


	15. He's always right

**A/N: Hellohello. Due to the A&P and Micro exams pushed back to the Monday we get back from Springbreak, a new chapter was able to be written. Thanks for reading. Thanks for reviewing. Thanks for it all.**

**Disclaimer:DOH**

**Oh, and to Nellas: You and some others were definitely in the minority of liking the fake chap 14. But at the end, I might repost it as an alternate ending joke. LOL. **

* * *

"You've been lying to me." 

Sprawling on the small couch, face masking the anxiety surging to the brim, he points his cane at Wilson.

"You're about to be cut from my Fave 5."

Wilson frowns, drawing his fingers away from the computer, brief annoyance crossing his features.

"You barely even know five people."

"You've been giving me false impressions about my life, B.C. Before Coma."

"And that means?"

"It means you purposely lied to me because I've just had three revelations about me B.C. Want to hear them?"

"I'm work-."

"One! Cameron likes closets for some reason. Two! I am a sucker for a woman with a slit in her dress. And three is that we..._dated_."

"_We_ didn't-."

"Not us! Me and Cameron you moron."

Literally stunned into silence, Wilson can't look away from his friend lying casually on the sofa.

"Why would you..." His eyes widen in realization. "You've been remembering, haven't you? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, get off it! You've known this whole time, haven't you?"

"About what? The idea of you and Cameron? I know she's been in love with you since she started working for you and that _you're_ nearly equally infatuated with her!"

"Pshaw!"

"No, not pshaw. Look at yourself!" Wilson stands, pointing madly at House. "Ever since you've woken up, you've been all...all stalkerish where it concerns her. You've become a-a-a creeper!"

"I woke up and everything was different! I was curious!"

"And where it involves her, you've cranked it up a notch! Why?"

"If it was Cuddy I'd do the same!"

"But you're not recovering memories about Cuddy, are you?"

House can't reply since it's the truth. Damn it all. His voice lowers, the absolute need driving him to the brink of seriousness.

"I need to know Wilson. Did something happen?"

With a sigh, he rubs a hand over his face, slowly sitting back down in his chair, knowing he shouldn't be the one divulging this.

"If it did, do you really think you'd have told me?"

House has to admit Wilson has a point.

* * *

Settling down on the stool, she opens the file. 

"Richard Bachman, you have a sore throat and bruises? I'll need to see them."

As he unbuttons his shirt, he rambles. "A ghost tried to strangle me last night. It's been after me since I moved out on Whitner's Lodge last week. Are these bruises serious?"

She raises her eyebrows at the story and at the four large bruises accompanying the seven smaller purple ones.

Leaning forward, "Can you feel this?"

"Yeah," he winces at her touch, turning as the door opens.

"You're a sneaky one, hooker! How much are you paying for her?"

The voice causes her to lose her footing and instinctively, she keeps one hand to her abdomen while the other reaches for the patient to keep her from falling completely off the stool and onto the floor.

House jerks from where he stands, too little too late to keep her from falling into Richard's arms.

"God, I'm sorry, Richard."

"No, no, you're pregnant. Are you alright?"

"No," she breathes, straightening, her senses tingling with something she can't define.

"House, get the hell out of this room!"

For a second, he stares down at her, not even realizing his hand is still holding her arm. As if she's on fire, he let's go, stepping back, but never once takes his eyes off of her frame.

"We had sex."

The blunt statement makes her breath halt and her tongue tie.

"Judging by that silence, I'm right."

She swallows harshly, eyes darting to Richard's avid stare. "No."

"You're lying."

"House, no. Now, get out."

"No." Turning to the patient, "Tell your boyfriend to sleep on the couch since he's beating you up in bed. Unless that turns you on, then by all means, sleep away." Turning back to her, "Miss Cameron, the do-gooder of the world, is a liar."

She shakes her head. "Richard, I think we're done. Dr. House is right."

Waiting until Richard leaves the room, she begins to sit on the uncomfortable stool again. "Why would you say that?"

He hesitates, and while glancing anywhere but at her, he speaks.

"I've been having...these thoughts. They're rather disturbing, actually. And they have you in them. "Pausing, he tries to gauge her reaction, but she's uncommonly calm. "Which means either you and I did something defying the laws of nature, or I'm losing my mind. I'd like the latter, the lesser of two evils."

Inside, her heart is beating rapidly, not sure why she'd done all this evading to begin with. Her back suddenly against the wall like a rat, it doesn't seem worth it - keeping all these secrets. But she doesn't trust him anymore.

"I," she sighs slowly, making sure to lock onto his gaze, "Fine."

She picks up her chin slightly. "You're right. You're always right."


	16. Have a piece

**A/N: I miss highspeed internet...but anyways! I can hold off reading stories until I get back to school. Hope you guys like this chap, though it will raise questions no doubt...like always ;) ThanksThanksThanks!**

**Disclaimer: D.O.H.**

* * *

Folding her arms, Cameron fights the urge to sigh. "How long have you been remembering?"

"Past week and a half. Were you ever going to tell me?"

"If I had to. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't believe myself. What happened between us?"

"Not much. How much do you remember?"

"Not much." He sighs, frustrated at this whole mess. Settling down on the exam table in front of her, he raps his knuckles on it, not sure what he wants to know.

"Is there anything you want to know?" she asks tentatively.

Leave it to her to ask the right question. "How did it start? Did you rape me? Dose me?"

"There was a benefit in January and because you posted flyers with Cuddy's face on a Playboy picture, it was a mandatory benefit for you."

"I've done worse," he interrupts, his hand moving to his throbbing leg.

"True."

_All he has to do is drink one more drink and he's that much closer to leaving. Turning slightly in his seat, he watches Wilson smoothly twirl Amber and grin that dopey grin at her. His eyes roam across the room in complete boredom, not really expecting to find anything interesting, but then he does. Chase walks into the room, a stunning brunette on his arm who looks nothing like Cameron. It'd been only a month since he'd heard the blonde duo had split, but House hadn't figured Chase to pick up another one so quick. He downed another drink, his head slightly lighter, his hands slightly tingly, and his mind slightly inebriated._

"I switched shifts with another attending who wanted to go, so I was down in the E.R. suturing a girl who'd hit her head on a kitchen cabinet."

"_All done. You okay?"_

_The light haired girl nods her head while peering over her shoulder. Turning, Cameron looks to see what's caught the girl's attention to find him with a silver spoon on his nose. _

"_Aren't you supposed to be at the benefit?"_

"_I'm going for a new record. Much more important."_

_With a glance towards the smiling eight year old, she walks to the same spot he'd first found her after she'd been working in the E.R. His eyes crossed, she wants to smile but doesn't. Instead, she reaches to grab the spoon off his nose only to have her wrist gripped in his right hand. _

"_You don't want to shatter my dream, do you?"_

_So close to him, she has to swallow while trying to wrangle her wrist free. "The only dream you have is to be between Carmen Electra's legs. I highly doubt either will come true."_

"_Ouch, Cameron." He can feel the warmth seeping into his fingers, her blood calming his, and he suddenly drops her hand, not wanting to feel any of these things. Jerking the spoon off his nose, he sticks his tongue out at her to erase the vile feelings. His left hand, hidden until now, comes from behind his back holding a small styrofoam plate with one slice of cool lemon pie. _

_Resting one hand on the doorframe, she watches him take one slow, moanful bite. _

"_There are a thousand other places to hide. Why come down here?"_

"_You're really," he swallows, "missing out on this slice of heaven."_

"_I'm not a big fan of pie."_

"After the girl left with her father, you were still standing there with your pie being nosy."

"_Chase was dancing with some stunning brunette."_

_Her hands halt for just a second in the act of finishing out the girl's file._

"_That's good," she replies, hearing him coming closer to her back._

"_Between the two of them, they'll knock out everyone on the floor with all their hairspray and gel."_

_She smiles in spite of herself and finally looks up at where he's trying to sit on the bed. They sit, one writing and the other smacking his lips before she stops._

"_You really don't like pie? You, Cameron?"_

"_Is that so hard to believe?"_

"_Pretty much," he shrugs, tearing his gaze away from hers to look around at the unusually quiet place._

"_It's seems a little quick for him to be with some other girl, especially since he's been in love with you for--."_

"_He's over it. I'm over it. It's not so hard to believe."_

"_You kidding me? Everyone's still talking about the Chameron split."_

"_God, I hate that name."_

"_Hey, I came up with that."_

"_Figures."_

"_This new girl really doesn't get to you, does she?"_

"_It's his life. He can do what he wants."_

"_You're happy he's found someone else a month after you split?"_

"_Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"_

_Tapping the plate with his spoon, he watches her close the file, walk to the main station, place it on the other files, and walk back. Her blonde hair is in one of her neat buns, professional and strict, and all he can think of is pulling it loose._

"_Let me try a bite."_

"_What?"_

"_Can I have a taste before it's all gone?"_

_Slowly, he moves the plate in her direction but at the last second, when her fingers touch the plate, he pulls it back towards him._

"_Psyche!" he says as he takes the last bite._

"_House!" _

"_Calm down. There's this diner just a few blocks away from here with even better pie. Your next break I'll take you to go get a slice."_

"I didn't know what to think about your offer. I don't think you did either because after you said it, you looked a little surprised. But I couldn't refuse and that was my fault." She looks down for a few seconds. "After that, you avoided me for a week before accosting me at lunch and making me pay for yours. I didn't tell anyone what was going on and neither did you. Two and a half months later I ended it."


	17. Taste the Rainbow

**A/N: Hellohello! Hope you like this chapter! It's got some smut...not too much but a little. And I can't believe I broke my 1000 word limit...I can't wait for the next chap though!**

**Disclaimer: DOH**

**Oh, and someone before asked how long House was in the coma. It was 3 months.**

* * *

"_God, House," she whispers, tired of him seducing her all night with not hostile words and one cooked meal. She'd been ready to jump him since she'd caught him dropping some spaghetti sauce on his pant leg._

_Her hands move to the button on his jeans, quickly undoing it and sliding her fingers to the zipper, only to be thwarted by his own hands capturing hers in a near vice between their hips. Looking into his now dark eyes, she frowns. _

_Taking in a harsh breath, he shakes his head. "Only two weeks and you're jumping my old bones? Naughty Cameron."_

_She leans forward to kiss him, catching his lower lip and softly biting it before pulling back. "I've known you for four years. We can skip the getting to know you part."_

_His hands release hers to slip between the thin fabric of her white lace boy-short panties on either side of her hips. He watches her eyelids drop even more in anticipation as his hands toy with the fabric and eventually delve underneath the lace to fully cup her buttocks. God, she's so young._

_Without thinking, her hands move to the front of his jeans again, this time unzipping his zipper fully. Again, he stops her, though not nearly gentle._

_Forcing her hands behind her as she gasps, he fights the all powerful urge to rip his clothes off and push himself into her no doubt, tight, warm, wet, core. He leans forward, forcing her to lean back and arch her back. It's a precarious position he knows, but he's pretty sure he'll be able to fight through the pain if she slips. _

_His lips catch her neck, faintly tasting oranges and grapefruit. He makes his way to her right collarbone before dragging his tongue down to the beginning swell of her small breast. Drawing her nipple into his mouth, he begins to feel her body quiver underneath the strain of keeping her weight off his leg._

_Pulling themselves back slowly, he releases her hands which immediately travel to his jeans again. He tries to pull them away but her fingers are hooked in his belt loops, and she's not taking no for an answer._

"_You can't hide that you want me, House," she whispers as she pulls on his loops to bring him forward and pushes herself harder onto him. His hardness between her legs, so pefect and manly, makes her moan as she kisses him forcefully, her tongue swallowing his soft groan as she begins to rock against him. When she feels his grip loosen around her wrists, she slips her fingers into the waistband of his boxers._

"_Stop," he hoarsely mutters, pulling her so close to him she can hardly breathe._

_Breathless, she pauses. "What's wrong?"_

_Swallowing, he averts his eyes from hers to the blank television._

"_House," she sighs. "Don't do this. We're so close."_

"_It's a mistake."_

_She leans back, forcing him to look at her. "No. No." She reinforces, moving her arms behind her back to try to pry his hands away. _

_Her fingers pause in their wrangling. "This is about your leg, isn't it?" _

"_No. It's about you."_

"_Liar," she breathes. "House, it's just a scar."_

"_I'm pretty sure I know that."_

"_I don't care what it looks like."_

_He stares at her. Of course she'll care. The moment she sees it, the amazing lust sex turns into amazing pity sex. He hates pity._

"_Get off."_

_She catches his face, refusing to lose him now when she's so close. "I like you."_

_His mouth opens but she covers his lips with her right hand. _

"_You're the strongest person I know. People talk about you when you're not around and you don't give a damn. People praise you when you save them...and still you don't give a damn. Whenever you're wrong about a diagnosis, you shrug it off and try something different. You're in pain every single day, and you still go to work and save somebody."_

_She lets her left hand go to his brow, softly stroking it and not missing the way his eyelids just barely shift downwards._

"_You're rude, obnoxious, ill-mannered, grumpy, sarcastic, pop I don't know how many Vicodin a day, and you always think you're right. And I could do without those things, but then it wouldn't be you. And as much as I hate it, I like that you're someone everyone hates. I've always cared about people and being around you lets me experience the other side I've never been able to understand._

"_You're wounded. I can't help you. Then again, you don't want help, do you? I don't care about your leg. I care about you. Even after the hell you put me through, I care."_

_When he says nothing, she drops her hands from his face and begins to get off of his lap. He stops her with his hands on her thighs._

"_The sofa isn't for beginners."_

He shoves six more skittles into his mouth as he watches from a safe distance of the doors leading out of the E.R. into wild New Jersey. His mind is slowly putting the pieces together. She couldn't take him ignoring her and belittling her when they weren't alone. The breaking point had been when she'd asked him to take her to the airport since she was going to see her brother, and he balked, making her miss her flight. Or so she'd told him just three days ago in the clinic.

"Dr. Evans is on call this weekend, Cara!"

At the sound of her voice, he pulls himself closer to the wall of the hallway. He sees her blonde hair blowing across her shoulders and her hands bracing her back in a position he's becoming all too familiar with. The exit doors slide open and she doesn't look back.

Breathing, he shoves another six skittles into his mouth. She'd slept with TB guy just one month after they'd broken up. She'd said TB guy had made her feel like she was worth it, plus he was House's mortal enemy. Her rebound TB guy had been perfect. Her rebound night had been blissful. Her rebound consequence had been a child.

* * *

**A/N: So hopefully it's clearer that Cameron told House she'd ended things because she couldn't hack being with him. TB guy came around and made her feel like a prized doll. She slept with him since he was the perfect rebound guy. 'Or so she'd told him three days ago in the clinic.'  
**


	18. No use crying

**A/N: I've been ready for this for forever! That's why it's so quick an update! You'll probably need to read it twice to catch certain things.**

**Disclaimer: D.O.H.**

* * *

The cool cup of milk slips in his grasp, the condensed water on the sides refuses to let him gain control. Involuntarily, he jumps as best as he can away from the cup as it falls clumsily to the tiled floor, ridding its white contents along the floor in a catastrophic mess.

"Damn it," he mutters, staring at the spilled milk. With a long sigh, he reaches over the island counter for the green hand towel.

* * *

"_He was at death's door, his knuckles poised to knock a final time when I," he motions with his own hands, "snatched him back to the realm of ex-con Martha Stewart and deranged Brittany Spears."_

_Taking a bite out of the PB&J sandwich, he waits for the obvious eye roll. It doesn't come. The peanut butter leaves his mouth gummy as he tries to swallow. He watches her fiddling with the tip of the braid thrown over her shoulder. As she averts her eyes once again from his, he throws the sandwich down onto her counter._

"_What is it? Forget to let the sun go down?"_

_She doesn't smile, doesn't even scoff. Pushing herself away from the small counter, she rubs her warm arms and looks at him before finally speaking._

"_Nothing."_

* * *

He forgets the towel as his brain registers the pain in his leg with such intensity that he nearly collapses to the floor. Catching himself on the counter, he braces all his weight on his left leg, only to find it's wavering as well.

* * *

_The glass of milk she'd handed to him as he'd made the sandwich is slick in his hand. He brings the cup to his lips, taking one sip and then deciding he needed to finish it all. He sits the cup back on her counter, his head whirling, his mind sick, his heart stuck. _

_The silence is thick enough to make him think he's about to suffocate. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Refusing to look at her, he stares down at his empty cup. Not once had he ever thought he'd be in this position. For once, he's speechless. Damn it! His hands slap the counter and he lowers his head, sucking in a breath loud enough for all of New Jersey to hear. _

_The hesitation radiating from her body reaches him as he finally looks up at her on the other side. In that moment he wishes he'd never gone down the E.R. the night of the banquet._

* * *

Gritting his teeth, he leans back against the cabinets of the island, his ass firmly planted on the floor. He grips his thigh, fighting the wave of massive, dull to the bone, pain. Why is he remembering this?

* * *

"_We've been together nearly six months. What do you want?"_

_The question unnerves him, obviously. They'd never spoken about their dreams, hopes, and aspirations. The thought comes to him that it has to do with TB guy's arrival a few months ago._

"_Why? What's happened?"_

"_I just need to know, House."_

"_Things are fine as they are. We're…dating."_

_The way her eyes bore into his, searching, scares him to a core he hasn't been afraid of in a long time. She's got something biting on her tongue, something huge, and he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want it to change. _

"_Camer-."_

"_I'm pregnant."_

* * *

"The hell?" he whispers painfully, his mind trying to make sense of what he was remembering. It doesn't make sense, he thinks, finally spying his vial of vicodin beside the sink.

* * *

_He doesn't care that she's crying. All he knows is he has to leave. He can't be around her right now. Leaving her alone in her kitchen, he limps to her door and lets himself out. As he walks down the short hallway, he imagines each step as a step closer to his own demise, his own prison that she's built for him. He has to wait for the elevator to climb its route, each second repeating the words she'd said that spun his world out of orbit. 'I'm pregnant.'_

_The ding makes him snap to. The doors open and he hastily makes his way inside, expecting to see her running down the hallway to stop him. She doesn't. _

_The fresh air hits him and he has to stop on the sidewalk. The many breaths don't help. The fast limping doesn't help. The sight of two busty women with their arms around each others waist doesn't help either. _

_No matter how far he walks, he's never far enough. He can't escape it. Winding back at his own apartment, he walks in, the safeness washing over him._

* * *

Falling back down, the Vicodin firmly in his grasp, he swallows two hungrily. All he can do now is wait. And while he's waiting, he's also becoming more and more confused at these bursts of ludicrous, unclear, random spaced, memories.

* * *

"_This isn't my fault!"_

"_Then who else's is it!"_

"_It takes two, House!"_

_He runs a hand through his hair as he grabs his cane with the other. He needs to get his leg moving._

"_What are you going to do?" he asks before answering for her. "Wait, stupid question. God, we're stupid!"_

"_I am not stupid because I got pregnant!"_

"_Yeah, you are."_

"_House," the lowness of her tone makes him pause to look at her. Her mouth is set in a hard line. "I did not get pregnant to trap you."_

"_Don't believe you."_

_She snaps her mouth closed, the harsh intake of her burning her nose, and in this moment, she hates him. Things never do change._

"_You're an ass, you son of a bitch!"_

"_Tell me something I don't know, Cameron!"_

"_I'm scared to death right now, and you are not helping me at all! Do you think I wanted to get pregnant?!"_

"_I'm not helping you? You're not helping me! You sucked me into this relationship and now we're having a kid! I don't want a kid!"_

"_Then you don't have to!"_

* * *

Holding his head in his hands, he clinches his eyes shut. Too many memories. Too many thoughts. Too many words. Too many not right things. Too many not plausible events. Nothing is in order.

She'd ended things two months after they'd dated. She'd slept with TB guy and gotten pregnant. They barely spoke to each other but she'd eaten with him after he'd been in the coma because she felt sorry for him. That is the way things happened. That's what everyone's told him. It doesn't make sense.

However, if he believes these new memories, she told him_, Gregory House, _that she was pregnant. _He _was the father. That meant she'd never ended things. They'd still been together when he went into the coma. It meant she'd never had a rebound thing with TB guy.

He goes over each short memory, trying to place them in order. 1)He eats the sandwich. 2)She tells him she's pregnant. 3)He drinks the milk. 4)They argue. 5)He limps out.

She lied. She lied to him. All this time. His head hits the cabinet with a loud thud and he barely feels it. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is right. She lied. She lied. She lied.

* * *

**A/N:Try to put the memories in order because they're not. It confused you right? I know. It confused House too. That was the point. **

**Better? Should be. I hope it is. This story is meant to mirror what House is seeing. We know what House knows and that's it. So, House remembering in this distorted, confusing, discombobulated, wreck, makes us read it the same way. And as he puts the pieces together, so do we. We realize as House realizes.  
**

**Which leads us to why? Don't worry, it's coming together as I type. And it won't be so drawn out like the past chapters.**


	19. Right is never right

"Tuesday's Chinese. You going to let me in?"

House leans against the doorframe, the door pressed closely to him as he eyes his friend wearing that 'can do no wrong' look that he'd mastered.

"House, what's wrong?"

"You were going to raise my kid."

Wilson frowns. "What are you talking about? Let me in."

"Funny thing about memory loss, you know? Sometimes you get it back. I remember."

His hands turn clammy and he tightens his grip on each bag as he stares at House. Whatever he's thinking, House is hiding it amazingly well, which doesn't surprise Wilson.

"Talk, man!"

"Calm down, House."

"You've been lying to me this whole time, damn it!"

"We agreed-."

"You were my best friend!"

"I still am, House." Wilson drops the bags harshly, not caring one of them has no doubt spilled out the contents of one carton worth of food.

"You really think you're innocent, don't you,bitch?"

Wilson disregards the name-calling. He does deserve it. He makes sure to look House in the eye.

"We did what was best for you."

"Yeah, thanks for not telling me I had a kid. It's a relief!"

"You know what? You don't get to be mad at me!"

"Why the hell not?!"

"You did know once, House. And you walked out on her like the scared brat you are. You told her you didn't want a kid and left her like she meant nothing!"

"At least I _knew_!" House opens the door completely to face the man opposite him head on. "I had a right to know the minute I woke up."

"So you could break her heart all over again?"

"That's my kid!"

"Aren't you the one who says all love is conditional!?"

"That doesn't matter! It was my life and you tried to play God with it!"

"Just like what you do, right?"

When House doesn't answer, Wilson shakes his head and tries to calm his breathing. He'd known from day one that this would never work, and how it took so long to finally come crashing down, he doesn't know. He slumps his shoulders and looks at the best friend he's ever had, which speaks volumes.

"I'm going to leave. You need to think about what all this means." Wilson waits for any type of acknowledgement, but all he receives is the always veiled blue glare.

"House, I'm truly sorry." Again, he pauses for any reactions. Is there any way to make House reasonable? "There was just…you never wanted to have any children. And when you woke up, what was she supposed to do? Cameron gave you an out that you never had to ask for."

The footsteps fade and the shutting of the outside door doesn't faze him. His best friend had kept this from him. The only person he'd ever let get so close, had screwed him over. It doesn't matter he didn't want kids. And her? House walks back into his apartment to grab his keys. The emotion that begins to burn him somewhere inside, threatens to engulf him in its heated anger, and before it leaves, he has to see her.

* * *

"Did you seriously think you were never going to tell me?"

His voice chills her to the bone and his expression makes her gulp. She steps back, intending to let him in, but he shakes his head slowly and leans heavily on his cane.

Her shoulders raised defensively under her white tank-top, accentuating the abomination dwelling within her, the tips of her toes curling inwards, and her chin tipped downwards as if preparing for the first blow, cause him to feel that stinging emotion trying to bubble its way through.

Not able to control himself, he slams his cane across the doorframe, not caring that she jumps. "Answer me, damn it!"

She straightens, her cowardice replaced by anger. "Calm down, House."

"I will once you give me some goddamn answers!"

"I am not telling you anything if you do not control yourself," she hisses.

"You were never going to tell me, were you?" He asks, choking on the words, choking on that damned emotion.

"No," she replies softly, more ashamed of herself now, than the day he woke up. However, she's tired of lying to everyone and if this is how it ends, then it's how it ends.

"You've been…_screwing_ with my head, tainting my thoughts, trying to make yourself look like you care, when you were just playing games with me!"

"It wasn't a game," she states harshly as she steps forward into the hallway. "I _do_ care about you and believe me, I wanted to tell you.

"You've had over a month to tell me!"

"I _couldn't_!"

"Your lips still worked! That is my kid!"

If he hadn't yelled, it wouldn't have made her snap. His anger triggers hers, the memories of them fluttering over her with regret and frustration because he doesn't remember it all. He thinks he's so innocent?

Emptying the space between to the point her pregnant abdomen touches his stomach, she meets his gaze before speaking.

"And you told me you didn't want it! Do you remember that part like I do? Do you?!"

It wells up in him, wells up in her, gripping them until they can think of only one emotion. _Betrayal_.

* * *

**A/N: Well...not the greatest chapter. I re-wrote this four times and I still don't think it quite captures House's frustration, but I do like the next chapter! Anyways, you guys can tell me how I'm doing. Don't give up on me yet, please. Thanks so much guys. Your reviews make me think I'm not completely hopeless.  
**


	20. No one's innocent

**A/N: Wow, quick update! I can't believe this is the20th chapter! Whoo!**

Disclaimer: DOH

* * *

The truth is he doesn't. He can remember some of her words, some of her clenched expressions, and some of his amazing denial. He'll be damned if he tells her that. He'll be damned if she thinks she can get away with this.

Cameron realizes her heart is pounding, thumping in her chest as if she's been running a marathon. She looks at House, breathing his burning anger, bathing in his unforgiving glare, reminding her of that night months ago when she'd lost and gained everything she thought she wanted.

"_Then you don't have to!"_

_He blinks, her words making him take a step back at the utter force in them. She's not lying. _

_Cameron rubs her neck with her hands, eyes darting at him and then anywhere else. She doesn't know what she's saying. She doesn't know if she means it. She doesn't want this to be happening. But it is._

"_You don't want to be here, fine!"_

"_You'd let me off the hook like that?"_

"_I didn't do this on purpose," she spits out, close to slapping the hell out of him and already heartbroken because he should think it. "If you could so easily think that about me then it should be just as easy for you to walk away."_

"_Cameron the martyr."_

"_Shut up!" _

_She takes a harsh step towards him. Seven months she'd been with him, inching her way to a more permanent spot within him. He'd belittled her when she said something optimistic. He'd made her yell when he wouldn't wash the dishes. He'd made her smile with the softest of touches. He'd made her cry when he made her feel like he never would need her. He'd been teasing her this whole time, lying about what he felt towards her. _

"_I love you, House." The words come out thick, edged with pain and hurt so deep, she doesn't realize she could cut him. "And you couldn't care less, could you, damn it? The minute something doesn't match your plan you freak out, run away, making sure that I never want to see you again and that you can be miserable again." Her voice catches and her hand wipes the tears off her cheek. "Go on, hobble away from this mess."_

"House-."

"This is my life, Cameron. You screwed with it!"

"You didn't want a kid to begin with!"

"I still should have known!"

"You could have gone your entire life without being any the wiser and it wouldn't have made a difference!"

"But that's not the fact now! Now, I know! You lied to me!"

"Of course I lied to you! You left me!" She points her arm at her door. "You walked out of that damn door without so much a word, and left me to deal with the mess!"

"Poor, Cameron! Now it all makes sense!"

"I…" she pushes her hair behind her ears before throwing them up in defeat. "I couldn't do it again."

"Do what?"

She catches his stare, unaware that everything she's been trying to control is unraveling and he notices every piece that falls.

"I thought that we were finally…something. I had everything in you, House and you threw it back at me without a backwards glance. I just," she closes her eyes, "_couldn't_ go through that again."

"That doesn't excuse you!"

She opens her eyes, surprised that she's still in one piece. "It doesn't excuse you either."

They look at each other, each knowing they've finally crossed the bridge but neither wants to be there. She still hurts too much from him, not sure she'll ever fully recover. He still hates her for thinking she could get this past him, as if he mattered so little.

Cameron finally moves, walking past the open door into her apartment. Turning, she thinks about saying something to him along the lines of 'I'm sorry,' but they're both guilty in the worst ways possible and so she closes the door. She's done.

House stares at the closed door for a few breaths. Slowly, he leaves with uneven footsteps because there's nothing left to do.

_The smallest light breeze just barely cools his arms in the hot July night. Leaning against his apartment door, he watches the street, still busy with cars passing here and there. The bugs attracted to the street light, buzz, a sound that wanes and crescendos at certain intervals causing his stare. But he's not really paying that close attention. His mind is elsewhere, stuck on one thought: Being a father. _

_His grandfather wasn't a good father. His father isn't a good father. He wouldn't, by logical deduction, be a good father. He isn't even a good person. Yet somewhere in his thoughts, he feels pulled by the knowledge that inside Cameron is part of his DNA, growing every day into a disgusting alien body called a fetus. _

_All love is conditional. He's still right. People don't just change._

_The sound of a dog barking slinks through his mind and after a brief glance, dismisses the dog and scraggly looking kid walking it. The barking comes closer and before he knows it, the dog is running up to him, jumping at the wrong leg. He groans in agony as the paws press into the scar and he tries to push it away. The next thing he knows, he's on the ground and the kid is suddenly larger. The kicks finally register and House fights back, almost winning until the kid grabs his forgotten cane, discarded as he'd fallen. Lights off._

* * *

**A/N: So...nothing really got solved did it? I know. Then again, most problems are never solved so easily. Thanks for the reviews!!  
**


	21. British guy's a hero

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. RF got a hold of me and nearly choked me. Anyways, yes, the last memory of the last chap was what happened to House. I mentioned it in 2 earlier chapters and just decided to elaborate. **

**I think I have to dedicate this to..."Lisa" for giving me the idea of the motorcyle. LOL. Many thanks to everyone!  
**

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

Maybe, if the road hadn't glistened with the recently dropped rain, it would have been fine. Maybe, if he had followed the speed limit as he should have, it wouldn't have happened. Maybe, if he hadn't walked out on her nearly four months ago, his ass would be planted in a comfortable sofa instead of on soft dirt lining the highway.

House looks down at his left leg, admiring the ratted and frayed denim covered in his blood. His ass no doubt is bruised. His left side and back would be sore for a few days due to the awkward position he'd been in as he'd lost control around the curve. When he hears the sound of tires on the road, he turns his head slowly into the blaring head lights coming his way.

The truck slows to a stop and the man behind the wheel opens the door and steps out, the engine still idling. In the dark, the man could be a teenager, his sneakers, jeans, and t-shirt, the passing fad of the misunderstood youth.

"You're an idiot."

The Australian voice holds no resentment, no curiosity, no fear. House wonders who this man has become.

"And you're British. Come on. Help me up."

Chase leans down on House's right side, gently hefting him up by his waist. "You've got two bad legs, now. Lean on me."

"When you're not stroooong. I'll help you…carry ooonnnn."

"Stop it," the younger man orders as they take one step forward and his new patient nearly slips forward. "If you want, I'm pretty sure I can carry you."

"The hell you can," House mutters as he puts an arm around Chase's shoulders.

Finally fighting their way to the truck, House leans back in the seat, grimacing as his head hits the headrest. "Don't forget my cane."

"That stick survived?"

Leaning his head out of the window, House sucks in a large breath. "And pull the bike off the road, Big!"

* * *

"You could call Cameron, you know. She _does_ work in the ER."

"And miss out on this male bonding time? I don't think so. Ow!"

"Sorry," Chase breathes, lessening the pressure of his hands as he spreads the ointment over the scrapes on House's calf.

House fingers the towel on his right thigh, even in his pain refusing Chase to see what hid there. "You're enjoying this."

"Not really."

"I fired you because of Foreman. This must be some sort of vindication for you."

"I don't need vindication. I'm over it. Here, hold your bandage while I get some tape."

"You're not going to ask what happened?"

Chase unwound the tape, cleanly tearing it off with two fingers, before grabbing the bandage from the fingers of the non-motile man half laying before him on the exam bed in the ER. "Don't really care. You'll need an MRI."

"I'm fine."

He leans back in the chair he's sitting in. "You were just in a motorcycle accident. It's protocol since it's you."

"What? Does Cuddy have guidelines if I come in hurt?"

"Quarterly memos. I'll go schedule a time for you." As he pulls the curtain open in front of him, he turns slightly. "Wait here."

"Yes, Capitàn!" House salutes, his face tired and too haggard for Chase to take seriously.

Alone, the weight begins to bear on him again. The night's events, the very ones he'd been trying to forget as he drove in the barely sprinkling rain, begin to replay in his mind. He still doesn't quite believe it. There's no way he can comprehend the relationship with Cameron even though, in his shifty memories, the feeling that he recalls is something that he'd felt only with Stacy.

He fights it now, the rush of that feeling threatening to make him think of her in a softer light. She'd lied to him; she deserved no such spot with him. Without thinking about it, he fingers the scar in his left eyebrow, the bald slit differing from the areas beside it filled with short hairs. House is sure what he feels for her now isn't the same as what he remembers.

He doesn't even want to think about the kid, his kid. It blows his mind and he can't quite wrap his head around the knowledge. Possessiveness has been built within him since the days of never having anything to call his own as he'd traveled from place to place. That's what had scared him the most when she'd told him she was pregnant: the automatic wave of possessiveness that washed over him as he'd eyed her still flat abdomen. Now, almost four months later and one night of harsh realization later, he wonders why he hadn't noticed it before.

Even though he hadn't remembered, he'd had to be near her, asking about her, knowing where she was. But he couldn't be a parent. Of this, he had no doubt.

The curtain rustles, drawing House's attention to the shadow on the other side.

"Finally! Let's get this over wi…."

The curtain opens with a smooth motion, the hands never faltering and the body refusing to move away.

"You're a miracle, House."

"I don't want you here. Chase!"

"He's the one who called me. What the hell were you thinking?"

House doesn't bother answering. Sitting upright, he tries to swing his legs over so he can try to stand.

"House, you can't just--."

"Back off, Wilson!"


	22. No lie, MRI

**A/N: Ooh, quick update since I made you guys wait so long last time and had no classes today. **

**Disclaimer: DOH**

**And Nellas, lol, I'm going to be more regular now...I think. Hopefully. Though...I just have this mindset of not going over 1000 words. I don't know what it is, but I just _can't._**

* * *

"I'm not scared to talk through the whole thing."

Wilson waits for a response from the man inside the MRI. "We're not imaging your head so you _can_ say something."

More silence and Wilson clicks the button so he can sigh without House hearing him. He knows he deserves this. In fact, he's almost relieved that now he can receive the punishment for something that, in secret, was driving him to maddening guilt not even surpassed by the cheating on his wives.

"What were you doing in the rain? Why can't you be like a normal person and sulk at home? I know that's what you were doing, sulking. You're a sulker. Actually, you're the brood master. Some people say Wentworth Miller is but he's got nothing on you."

"…."

"Okay, you're still not talking. Maybe that's a good thing since I've got some things to say." Wilson leans back in the chair and crosses his ankles beside the computer screen. "You're mad at _me_ because I didn't tell you that you got Cameron pregnant. I'm mad at _you_ because you never even told you were dating Cameron."

"…."

"You didn't know that, did you? The morning after you went into the coma, I was in your room, minding my own when Cameron runs in like she's fleeing from…Chase, and after asking two hundred questions, which I'll have you know was not pleasant in the least, blurts out that she's dating you. I laughed. Can you believe that? My best friend is in a coma. Cameron tells me she's my best friend's girlfriend. And I _laugh._" Wilson covers his mouth at the memory.

"…."

"Never once did I think you had something going on with Cameron. I mean, I figured something was up with somebody, but not _her_. And when she told me she was pregnant…she was a wreck, House. I thought she was joking at first. Gregory House, world renowned diagnostician, was going to be a father. God help us."

This time, he doesn't try to stifle the tired sigh that needs to escape him. "I found you."

"…."

"Well, maybe the landlady and I found you at the same time. It's her name on the record at least." He clears his throat. "Cameron called me that morning, told me that you two had had some kind of fight. That early in the morning, I didn't even realize that it should've sounded bizarre. I got there as your landlord was opening the door. I don't remember telling her to call 911. I don't remember taking your pulse. I don't remember the police asking me questions."

"…."

"You're almost done. You know what? I think you were right the first time. You shouldn't be a father. I mean, no one else would think you should be a father either, but now I think they're right. You especially shouldn't be the father to a kid that would have Cameron as their mother. You're a _screw-upper_, I think is the right word. So, I guess the first time you ran away, you were right to do so."

"…."

"You hurt her two-fold, House. She shouldn't have had to go through this again, but you made her. What kind of person does that? What kind of father would that make? Even I don't think you're redeemable, but that's how it's always been, right? You defining your own rules and if something changes, turn tail to the other direction so you can't see it. It's a great quality for someone who wants to be alone the rest of his life."

Taking his legs off the counter, Wilson leans forward in the seat now. "No matter what you do though, you're going to have a child running around here. You can't run away from that. You can't be _alone_ knowing that. But if you keep doing…this, then she's going to leave and take your child with her. You might not care now, tomorrow, or a few years from now, but one day, you will. And you'll have to live with that, along with everything else."

Even though he shouldn't, Wilson walks out to the MRI machine as the scan ends. He watches House struggle to sit and finally look up at him through the fifteen feet separating them.

"You need help getting back into the wheelchair?"

House doesn't answer him so he wheels the chair over and takes a step back so the man can do it himself. The pride of Gregory House always amazes him.

"You're a pompous, arrogant, jerk."

"What?" Wilson asks, surprised and cautious at the same time at House's first words.

"You're constantly lecturing me about my life like you're better than me, know more than I do. Guess what? You're just as screwed up as I am. I don't have to listen to you."

"But you do."

House is silent for a few beats and his hands come to lie in his lap. "You screwed up, Wilson."

A shrug is all Wilson can afford. "We all do eventually."

"You can't think that it's suddenly alright. You lied to me. You kept lying to me."

"You really think this is all about you, don't you? Don't you understand she's as much a part of this as you are?"

"And what was your excuse, Wilson?"

He blinks. What is his excuse? After all this time, the reason's been distorted, falling to the back of his mind so he doesn't have to think about it. Did he do it for Cameron? Did he do it for himself? Did he do it for House?

"I did it for the kid," Wilson answers midthought. "That's the only innocent one here, isn't it? If you couldn't give your child what they needed, why couldn't I stop the trail of regret that's still in you because of your father?"

House leans back, not willing to give Wilson credit for knowing him better than anyone else. Damn it.

"Wilson--."

"You need to come down to the ER now!"

"What happened?" House asks, his attention fully on the brunette in pink scrubs.

"Dr. Cameron was on her way up the stairs and she fell. She keeps asking for you."

"Wilson."

"Got it," he replies, his hands already pushing House's wheelchair toward the door.

* * *

**A/N: So...I'm not going to lie. The thought of a nohappyending did cross my mind. Show of hands! Who wants House and Cam together? Cuz right now, I'm on the fence. Many thanks to the reviewers. Many thanks to the silent readers.**


	23. Hope it hurts

**A/N: So, I didn't proofread since I just want to keep my writing pace/updates up. I think this chap is alright. You tell me. And you guys are pretty vocal! LOL. But that's a very good thing!**

**And this chap is dedicated to a...ghostless ghost who inspired the ball incident. LOL.  
**

**Disclaimer: DOH**

**Thanks everybody for your input!**

* * *

There's no mistaking the sound of fast wheels on these floors of linoleum. She turns her head from where she's been ordered to lie as he's wheeled in by Wilson.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

She'd feel better if it had been House who'd asked instead of Wilson

"What the hell were you doing out there in the rain!?"

House feels Wilson letting go of the handle bars and taking a step back. Chicken. "What the hell were you doing taking the stairs!?"

"I asked you," she sits up with extreme effort, "first."

"You're the pregnant one. That trumps bad leg." He wheels himself close to her, stopping by her thighs so he can look at her closely. "Vision fine? What's your BP? Did you faint? How's my kid? Still kicking?"

The audible gasp from the nurse doesn't phaze him. People would know eventually.

Cameron leans forward, quietly whispering. "You do know the whole hospital is going to know, now."

"I don't care. That means more baby gifts since everyone's scared of me." He motions behind her. "Give me that stethoscope."

She nearly does. She stops herself however, and looks down at his battered leg under the patient smock.

"Your leg! Let me see!"

"My leg's fine. You're the pregnant one who fell down the stairs."

"I tripped up two steps! As you can see, I'm fine. All I have," she brushes her bangs away, "is this cut on my forehead."

Even as she speaks, she braces herself off the bed and stands in front of him.

Rolling his eyes, he throws his hands up to stop her from getting closer. "You need to get the doctor--."

"I will! First, let me look at your leg, you damn crippled!"

"_What did I do?"_

_House looks up from the article on Batboy teaming up with Bigfoot to where she's standing in front of the tv with the TiVo remote in her hand. "What do you mean, 'what did I do?'"_

_She frowns as she pushes the arrow button again, only to find a blank screen. "I set it to record 'Love Comes Softly' when it came on two days ago. It's not--. House!"_

"_What?"_

_Resting her right hand on her hip and the other pointing the remote at him, she draws out a breath. "You did not delete my movie."_

"_I would never do such a thing. It's got that babe from Grey's Anatomy."_

"_Then why isn't it on here?"_

"_You must not have done it right."_

"_I did it right." She turns back to the television._

"_Obviously, not."_

"_I followed the directions word for word, House."_

"_Spanish was in the back. English in--. OW!!"_

_Hearing his yell, she turns quickly to find him covering his left eye. She jerks, dropping the remote on the floor as she hurries to where he's reclining on the chair. _

"_God, House! Are you okay? Let me see."_

"_You…hit me!"_

"_I didn't hit you." She fights with his other hand to gain access to his injury._

"_You threw that damn ball right at me!"_

"_It's a nerf ball and I didn't think it would hit you! Let me get a look."_

"_No!" He moans painfully. " You aimed!" _

"_Did not!"_

"_How else would you hit me smack in the eye!?" _

"_Stop squirming you big baby."_

His hands go to his jean pockets but he finds no Vicodin. Gruffly, "Where's my jacket?"

"Why?"

"I don't have my vicodin."

Cameron looks up to Wilson from where she's, examining House's leg under the bandages.

Already turning to leave, Wilson answers the silent question. "I'll go ask Chase. I'll be back."

"Is it bad?"

"Wrong leg pain."

She frowns, taping the bandage back down now that she's satisfied he's fine. Her gaze wanders to his right thigh and she sighs without looking at his face as she pulls her hands away from him.

"If the vicodin fell out of your jacket, I've…still got a vial in my locker."

It says a lot, and she knows it.

"Slippin' a little somethin' somethin' in with the pre-natals, Cameron?"

"I've got your spawn living inside of me, of course I am."

He takes inventory of her face. Her eyes are puffy, dark, tired. She's got a small band-aid above her left eyebrow that covers the small cut she'd received as she fell. Her lips, pursed, make him think it's an all too familiar habit because of the new lines surrounding her mouth. Her hands shift to her stomach, uncomfortable under his penetrating stare since it's been so long for her.

"What were you thinking, House?"

The voice is low, careful, and he leans back in his wheelchair as he looks away from her. It was the moment, he thinks. He'd forgotten in one space of time why he'd been riding on his motorcycle.

"You lied."

"We've established that already. You're stupid."

"Everyone knows that. At least I don't keep it a secret."

"Like you even could."

He rolls his eyes and begins to wheel himself away. He's been here too long in this almost friendly air with her. He doesn't want to be friendly. He hates her at this moment, at this space of time. He stops, though not for the lack of trying. Turning his head, he finds her hands on the guide bars, halting his escape.

"You can't blame me for what I did."

"Why the hell not?"

"_You_ left me."

"I was in a _coma!_"

"After you left me!"

"Because you ruined my life and you've done it again!"

She's over seven months pregnant with his child. She's been hiding from him since he woke up. She's secretly dreamt about him finding out and wanting him to be with her again. She's tired of not being able to sleep right, tying her shoes, bending down for a fallen quarter.

She slaps him, her hand stinging in agony because he can never just _stop._

* * *

**A/N: So, Chase called Wilson who called Cameron about what happened. Cameron hurries to the hospital, is waiting for the elevators, decides to hell with it and begins to take the stairs. In her haste, she trips and the janitor hears her. Then, she was in the ER.  
**


	24. Crying over you

**A/N: On with the show? Anyone still wanting read?**

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

Her feet lead her to the supply closet. Her fingers grasp the door knob without hesitation and her fingers flick the light switch without thought. The door closes behind her as she steps into the farthest corner where the metal stands harbor precious and mundane hospital objects. Cameron grips the metallic bars, her fingers becoming numb because she doesn't want to let it out, to be so weak again. Damn her hormones.

She should know by now it's a losing battle. Cameron exhales, the last of it ending in a sob wrenched from her throat. One numb hand covers her mouth, the sound of her crying in this isolated room proclaiming the absolute hopelessness she's tried not to think about these past months.

'_How's my kid?'_

Shutting her eyes so tightly she can see spots, she replays his acknowledgement, his possessiveness, his caring of their child. It'd been a moment she'd wanted to hear, and now that she has, she wishes she never had. It's too much right now. It's too little right now. She doesn't even know and she doesn't even think it matters.

He doesn't care about her. He cares about his child. Cameron had figured she could handle him not wanting to be with her as long as he was there for their kid. She'd thought she could distance herself away from the man she'd loved with all of her being just four months ago. As the tears keep falling down her warm cheeks, she realizes she's been stupid. She wants him with her, raising their child and living together.

She wants the mornings where she wakes up, finding him with his back to her, or waking up with his hand under her shorts like it usually does. She wants the irritation in his eyes as she tries to get him to talk to her when he's working on one of his cases. She wants the days when he barely acknowledges her presence and she knows to stay at her place.

* * *

"_Instead_ _of_ _candy_ _stripers_, _candy_ _strippers_."

_She lifts the clipboard to her right, her elbow resting on the couch as she looks down at his head in her lap._

"_I'm sure Carlson will approve."_

_House shrugs, his eyes closed. "He could get his wife to do it for free."_

"_And you would enjoy that wouldn't you?"_

"_You've seen his wife."_

_She pinches his forearm which causes him to jerk._

"_Ow! What was that for?"_

"_I will not allow you to think about Carlson's wife being your stripper."_

"_Jealous?"_

_The truth is she is. The woman is beyond gorgeous and has at least nine years on her with her twenty three year old full breasts and perfect full hips. Even she has her moments of insecurity that usually don't last longer than a few minutes._

_He opens one eye to see her with eyebrow raised. It's cute, her being jealous because she isn't very often. _

"_I won't tell you I'm thinking about Carlson's wife being a stripper as long as you promise you won't be a part of this new candy stripper takeover. I am your one and only client."_

* * *

He knows he should turn away, shut the door softly and make his way down the hall, but he can't pull himself from her even after all this time and all the events that separated them. Chase sees her figure, clinging to the far stand as if it's all that holding her up and it very well may be. Her tears and gasps make his heart burn and stomach twist, partly because she doesn't deserve this and partly because House is the reason her life is upside down.

His body wedged between the frame and the door, he thinks about stepping into the room fully to show his presence. It's brief and fleeting, just like everything between them. Chase can't forget about their past, about the catastrophic way things had ended, but he knows that he needs to let go of her. This isn't his battle, and it's not his place to bring her back from despair or House back from his denial.

After what feels like horrendous hours, but which is actually only a sorrowful twenty minutes, her shoulders begin to relax and her small gasps slow. He backs out, making sure the door closes with a barely heard click.

* * *

She wants everything, but she can't have it all. That's been clear for so long. Cameron leans her forehead against a stack of pale green scrubs. Everything has changed, and she can't stay stuck since she's about to have a baby. Let him be angry at her; she does deserve it. Let him be obstinate; he shouldn't have to change. Let him dismiss her; he always has. He can't understand why she had to lie to him, and she doubts he ever will.

Her tears are silent now, no longer anguished and out of control now that the dam is beginning to stem itself because this is how it is. It could be because she's finally given up on him. It could be because she's come to terms with the fact she can't change what she did. It could be because she's realized she can live without him and still be fine. It could be because she knows that having his child is the closest she'll come to having him with her for the rest of her life.

* * *

**A/N: So, yeah, it took me two months. Though, I'm not sorry for it considering...it was my decision and I am anything but smiles and rainbows. Anyways, I should be finishing this story on as planned. Thanks again to everyone who enjoys this story enough to keep going.**


	25. Can you say?

**A/N: Have a nice day every one! :)**

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

They're silent as they exit the hospital. The Odd Couple at their best, Wilson pushes House's wheelchair along at an even pace. By the time they reach Wilson's car, House finally breaks the tentative silence.

"I'll get a cab."

"My car is right here."

"So?"

Wilson sighs frustrated, assuming his superhuman pose that he reserves for occasions of House's stubbornness. "It'll be easier to just let me take you home."

"You're all about making things _easier_ for me, aren't you?"

"And you're all about making things infinitely harder for yourself!"

"Yeah, well I can do what I want."

For a second, Wilson thinks about not saying anything in response, but he's spent over a month not saying the important things to him. "What you've done hasn't gotten you anywhere."

"Still, my choice."

"And you're fine with that?"

"Yes! Alright! Damn it! I am fine with that! I am fucking perfect with that!"

No one would have thought they were best friends at that fraction of a moment had they looked on. Even Wilson is taken aback by the sheer emotion seeping through House's words. That's when he knows with a hundred percent certainty that House cares. He's taken aback even more.

House rubs his forehead harshly, the headache beginning to rampage and pillage his senses. He's had enough for one night. More than enough for the rest of his life, actually.

"House…come on. You've had a rough night."

"I said I'd call a cab."

"I won't say a word. I won't do anything unless you say to. I just…I have to make sure you end up at your place fine."

"I don't care to satisfy your guilty conscience."

"Trust me. You aren't."

They share a glance, one that reminds both of them of just yesterday when they were picking out breast sizes in the nurses, women and men. House concedes only because he's tired to the yellow marrow of his bones and Wilson's right. It's easier to just take the ride from him.

"One ride. That's it."

Wilson can manage that, for now. "Fine."

* * *

The silence is still their father when they arrive at his apartment. Wilson cuts the engine off and steps out to grab the wheelchair in the backseat before making his way to the open passenger door with a waiting House.

House makes no move to position himself in the wheelchair, keeping his eyes focused on the button controlling the window.

"House?"

"Would you have done it?"

"Done what?"

His tongue slightly tsks at random. "Raise my kid?"

Rocking back gently on his heels, Wilson resists the temptation to run his fingers through his hair and rest it on his neck as if tension has gathered there. He looks up into the night sky as if the answer is written somewhere in stars that are invisible to everyone but him. The truth is, he doesn't rightly know. He'd been taking it day by day. Like now.

"It doesn't really matter anymore, does it?"

Motionless, House thinks about the question. Then, he brings out his cane and hefts himself out of the vehicle without any words escaping his lips. It hurts, but when hasn't it? House stares at Wilson, the wheelchair and so much more between them, both of them waiting for something that isn't quite ready to be found, before leaning on his cane heavily and moving one painful foot in front of the other carefully and cautiously.

* * *

"_Why do you do that?"_

"_Do what?"_

_She opens her eyes and turns her head to find him in the same position as her on the bed, supine, except his eyes are closed. _

"_My shorts."_

"_I'm pretty sure I can't do your shorts."_

_House feels Cameron turn on her side to face him, his hand shifting inside the waistband of her shorts. _

"_You're a pervert even when you're asleep."_

"_It's part of my charm."_

"_Really?"_

"_You like it don't you?"_

"_What if I said no?"_

"_Then I'd know you're lying."_

"_How?"_

"_Everybody lies."_

"_So I've heard."_

"_From a genius, I bet."_

"_I wouldn't call him that."_

_He fingers the soft waistband of her navy shorts, moving from her right hip meeting the bed to the fabric over her left hip rising up into air. He allows his palm to flatten over her thin hip, his fingers splaying over warm from sleep skin._

"_I think I'm sick."_

"_Why?"_

"_My throat's all scratchy. My nose is stuffy. I think I'm catching something."_

_Cameron rolls her eyes as she shifts closer to him and places the back of her hand on his forehead. "You feel fine."_

"_I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to call in sick."_

"_You think you can get around Cuddy?"_

"_You're right. I just won't show up."_

"_Ha. Yeah, and then she'll just show up here to drag your fake sick ass back to clinic for an all day help-a-thon."_

"_I'm really good at hide and seek."_

"_No hide and seek today. Get up."_

_The fingers positioned on her hip begin to softly stroke her skin and he wonders how long it will take to break her._

"_But I don't wanna gooooo."_

"_You know what House?" She reaches up and smoothes back some of his untamed hair, her fingers twisting gently in the short strands, causing his eyes to open slightly and allowing him to catch her playful smile. "You can't always get what you want." _


	26. No more lunch

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

"_40 year old man. MRI shows considerable plaque in –."_

"_I can read a file, Cameron."_

_Her mouth shuts with a click as she waits for Chase's acceptance or refusal. "You could at least try to be more professional," she mutters as he flips over another page._

"_And you could at least acknowledge I am a skilled doctor. Not an idiot."_

_Cameron looks at him finally, the real reason for calling him down here choking in her throat. "I don't think you're an idiot."_

_Chase re-reads the line he'd been focusing on. The tone of her voice throws him for a small loop, though he gives no indication of it. Maybe it's time to just…let it go. He catches her stare._

"_I've… got an opening at four."_

_She nods, not moving away from her position by the wall. Chase closes the file, still watching her._

"_You hear about House?"_

_Resisting the urge to let out a frustrated groan, he decides to play this friendly. "Yeah. Coma."_

"_They, uh, caught the kid yesterday morning."_

"_I hadn't heard."_

_Her glance shifts from him to somewhere over behind him. Folding her arms under her chest, she hopes she's hiding her shaking hands. "They don't know when he's going to wake up."_

"_I somehow find it hard to believe a coma can keep House down."_

_For just a flit in time he sees the quirk of her lips tilting upward in that smile he'd always loved to see. Then he's aware of her shaking fingers pressing to her lips._

"_What's wrong?"_

"_Chase…I," she pulls her hand away with an agitated jerk. "I need to tell you something important."_

_Doom fills him. This isn't the first time he's heard something along these lines pass from her mouth. When her eyes dart around them, he suddenly realizes she's been waiting for the perfect opportunity when they're alone, or alone as they can be. _

"_Okay." When did his mouth become numb?_

"_I…I wanted you to know before you started hearing things…seeing things." Even Cameron thinks her stilted words are grating and too drawn out, but she blames her nerves. She even blames hormones. "I'm pregnant."_

_The wind is knocked out of him but he can't fall down, he can't walk away, he can't even look away. She's pregnant? God. God. God. No. No. Chase sees the brilliancy of the emerging tears in her eyes and the unstable quiver of her parted lips as she speaks again._

"_It's House's."_

* * *

He accepts the file handed to him by Taub with barely a glance.

"Chase?"

Biting into his sandwich heartedly, he never looks up from perusing the said file. The noise of the cafeteria is deafening today, probably due to the gossip mill overrunning from musings and disbelief at last night's turn of events.

"Chase?"

The hand is suddenly on top of the typewritten pages, blocking his view. Too bad he doesn't have x-ray vision and too bad he's not in the mood to be Taub's House Guru. Anyways, isn't that normally Foreman's job?

Finally looking up, Chase tersely speaks. "What?"

"In as bad a mood as House?"

"Look, I've got surgery in 95 minutes. I don't have time to chit-chat about House's love life. So, unless this is about the patient you want me to open up later today, leave."

Taub's eyes shift to the left and right and he hesitates before sitting down opposite Chase, folding his hands across the white table with his thumbs tapping softly as if he's nervous.

"Well?"

"I'm not…the kind of guy who cares what others doctors do."

Leaning back slightly, Chase waits for the man to finish.

"Now, we both know what's happened with House and Cameron…and you and Cameron."

"I don't have time for this." Standing, Chase grips the file in one hand and his tray in the other. Even as he begins walking away, he can feel Taub following in his heels, so he turns around abruptly holding out a hand to stop the ex-plastic surgeon. "You don't wanna deal with a pissed off House. I get it. Really, I do." Chase leans in closer. "But you don't know what happened between him and Cameron and you sure as hell don't know what happened with her and me."

His steps are loud in his ears, though he knows that no one else can hear his soft shoes since they're too wrapped up in drama that has nothing to do with them.

On the way to surgery, he spies Wilson at a vending machine, no doubt veering off the beaten path so he won't have to deal with the stares and whispers. He's got half a mind to toss him down there with the wolves and Taub for some type of vindication he doesn't even really want. And then just when he's about to enter the surgical ward, there's House, ahead of him, his steps slow and measured.

Reaching him, Chase stares straight ahead, his feet suddenly not so hurried. He senses House glancing at him before following suit.

"No wheelchair?"

"No gel?"

Shrugging, Chase replies, "I don't care what people think."

"Me neither."

He's already passed his OR, but Chase keeps walking. At least it's quiet up here.

It's ridiculous, House thinks as they keep walking, that the British guy is his closest ally.

* * *

**A/N:** Ha, so I know some of you guys couldn't care less for Chase, but I like him...not with Cameron, but in general ;) Anyways, I promise that he won't be around for far too long, but he is very very important in where we're going! Thanks so much!


	27. We're not friends

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

"What's going on?"

Cameron looks up the woman with her forearm on a suturing table. "Excuse me?"

"Everyone's looking at us, at you."

As if she needs more evidence, Cameron glances out of her peripheral vision to take note of most of the nurses casting her sideways looks and the doctors whispering to each other as they pointedly look away. She exhales sharply and stands from her chair before sticking two fingers into her mouth and producing a sharp whistle which garners her much attention.

"Yes, I am pregnant with House's child! No, we are not together! No, I was not forced at gunpoint to have sex with him! No, I did not sleep with him for my old job! No, I am not _with_ Wilson! Yes, House is pissed at me! Yes, I am pissed at him! And yes, this is getting old real fast! So, do your damn jobs!"

* * *

"What are you doing here? This isn't your patient."

"My boyfriend likes me to watch his colostomies. I'm a pillar of crippled support."

Cuddy moves to stand beside House with a wary glance at his scratched and burned left palm. "Quite a stunt you pulled on your bike last night."

"You should see me on my unicycle."

"You have to have two fully functional legs to ride one of those."

"I just had a vehicular accident! Where's the sympathy?"

"My sympathy flew out the window when I came in to work this morning to find the entire hospital staff focused more on you and Cameron than their jobs. Even the janitorial crew is talking about you two!"

"Oh look, here comes the cool part! See, he's going to cut out –."

"House," Cuddy places her hand on his arm and forces him to look at her for the first time since she walked in. She doesn't even know what she sees on his face. It doesn't look like anything she's ever seen. "What happened?"

"Now, _you're_ the one who's curious."

"No, I'm concerned. Two of the best doctors in this place are _feuding_, and the rest of the place is too absorbed by the latest turn of events that we might as well be Grey's Anatomy!"

"It's not my fault!"

"It's always your fault."

"Yeah, well, not this time. Cameron's pregnant with my kid! Wilson knew this whole time! And neither was ever going to tell me. There!"

As he hits the wall with his fist, Cuddy rubs her chin softly. She hadn't exactly ever thought she'd have to deal with something like this. "So, they're idiots. So, they lied."

House turns with a frown directed at her.

"Why does that surprise you, House? Did you really expect them to be the exception to the rule?" She scoffs without humor. "They screwed up. You screw up all the time."

"Not as much."

She smiles. "You're just as angelic as they come. You need to talk to them."

"I –."

"Shut up. Listen to me for once. Wilson is your _best_ friend, House. Nearly your only. And if you were dating Cameron, then obviously she meant a lot to you. I know it's easy for you to walk away, but if you do, then you're going to be left more alone than you would if you just talked to them."

"You're just saying this so the hospital is fully functional again."

Cuddy doesn't respond to him as she walks out of the gallery.

* * *

"Quit stalking me, House."

"I'm not stalking you, Chase."

"I've seen you more these past two days than the entire year. What do you want?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, yeah, you never want just 'nothing'. What is it?"  
"There's no ulterior motive for me wanting to spend time with the little wombat that could."

"You _are _an ulterior motive. Hurry, I'm ready to get home."

Facing Chase all of sudden, House looks down at his cane before biting his lip slightly. "You busy tonight?"

Frowning, Chase folds his arms. "Why?"

"There's this video arcade they opened up on Fourth and Disher."

It hits the surgeon that what House is asking for, is a friend. He's turned to the last person he should ask for that request though.

"You should ask Wilson."

"I won't."

"Well, you should. He's your friend."

"He was until he conspired against me."

"So, it's over just like that?"

"Yep."

"That's stupid."

"Probably, but it's not stopping me. So, what do you say?"

"No."

"No?"

Shaking his head, Chase leans against the deep basin, taking in the form of the all mighty Gregory House. "Two years ago you fired me, House. And I got a new start. I like it here. Thanks. We're colleagues. But," he shakes his head again. "I'm not your friend."

"We don't have to be friends. We can just compare the battle scars of Cameron on our foreheads."

His body tenses, his mouth clenches tighter, and Chase can feel the utter tautness in every muscle of his being. He doesn't want to compare scars with House, especially ones Cameron caused. It wouldn't be fair to House anyways since the winner would be one Robert Chase M.D., undeniably.

"You don't even know how lucky you are, House."

Chase exhales, almost on the brink of ripping apart his secrets for the first time to anybody. Before he gives in though, he takes a step away from House and closer to the exit, towards his freedom.

"You want a friend? Go to Wilson. Go to Cameron. Hell, go to Kutner. Go to anyone but me."

* * *

**A/N: Ah, stick it out a little longer Chase haters. LOL! Thanks!  
**


	28. You don't hear me

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

"_Should I just go?"_

"_If you want."_

_Cameron slides the milk into the refrigerator before pouring the remains of his soup into a plastic container. She can hear the apathy all the way from where he's sitting on his computer where the hallway begins. Snapping the lid shut on the container, she repeats her actions as she'd done with milk before resting her forehead on the refrigerator door. _

"_I put your soup away beside your milk."_

_No answer, though she's not surprised. It's steadily been getting worse, the past four days dividing a wedge between them, and she doesn't know why. Well, she does partly. He's gotten an extremely difficult case, one that she's tried to help on since they usually make an unofficial unstoppable team, but it makes it all that much easier for him to treat her like his duckling once more._

_She doesn't miss the anger at the misdiagnosis, the curious hovering over her shoulder, the mocking of her answers, the biting remarks about her closeness with the patient, the sharp jabs at her medical abilities. And she doesn't deserve it. She's a great doctor, and she knows this, everyone knows this. It seems like everyone knows it but him._

_The clicking of the mouse is harsh and quick to her ears. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Cameron stands by his door, wanting him to just turn sideways and look at her. They've been together three months and she deserves that little, now. But she reaches for the doorknob, the solid metal cool against her touch, and twists it with a simple lateral rotation of her wrist. _

_When the warm air of early spring hits her cheeks, she leans against the outside of his door, content for once to just stand here. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why she puts up with this, with him, with these short appearances of loneliness. She loves him. Everyone knows it, had always known even when it wasn't even that true. It seems like everyone knows it but him._

_--_

Hadley holds the file out to him, wondering if this recent string of need-a-case-every-day is going to end anytime soon. True, it's better than sitting on her ass all day listening to him question her sexuality, but she's not the only one getting worn out by non-stop diagnoses and treatments.

Yanking the red file out of her fingers, House leans forward on his elbows to study the latest could be case, noticing the name of the attending who'd referred the case.

Allison Cameron, M.D.

"Guess what? We're taking a day off."

"If Cameron thinks we should –."

"Take it back!"

Her eyes blink a few times before grabbing the file off his desk and making her exit, but as her fingers curve around the door handle, she halts. "Just because you can't handle your feelings for your ex, doesn't mean you can just toss her judgment off."

"My feelings or lack thereof, are none of your concern."

The door closes as House stands, slowly limping his way to the vertical blinds. Shutting them closed with a smooth flick of the wrist one at a time, his office is suddenly bathed in eerie darkness that's touched by a few random streaks from the outside sun. With no one to spy through the glass walls, House uncomfortably lies down on the carpeted floor that has more than enough memories of this same anatomical position. House assumes it – head straight, feet straight, arms abducted slightly with palms out.

Four days. Four days of knowing, and doing nothing about it. It's not cowardice. It's not fear. It's not anger. It's not regret. It's just…hurt. Gregory House is hurt. How bizarre.

Steps pass by, shuffled and hurried, doors close harshly and voices begin to filter through the world beyond his mind. He can't grasp what's happened to him. Maybe he doesn't want to. Every time he thinks about her, he remembers her being there when he woke up and visiting him after. He'd been somewhat intrigued by her comfort around him, by her newfound confidence that had surfaced as soon as she was left free of his rule, by her friendliness. He won't lie. He'd been turned on by her, though that isn't something new.

"Where's House?"

He knows that obnoxious, needy voice.

"You really think I'd know?"

And he knows that dangerously pregnant voice.

"He's here, isn't he?"

The door handle lowers, but unluckily for Wilson, House has locked it.

"Again, do you really think I'd know?"

"Cameron…you're not as cavalier as you think."

Even from here, House can see that piercing stare she reserves for special occasions.

"It's obvious he doesn't want anything to do with me or my baby."

"He's still adjusting to the news. It takes time."

"Are you saying that for me or are you trying to make yourself believe that for you?"

Touché, Cameron.

"God, Cameron, I'm saying it for both of us."

Ah, Wilson's too needy to lie about that.

"Look, I'm going to be late for my meeting with Cuddy, so--."

"What meeting?"

Yeah, what meeting?

"It's nothing."

"If it's nothing why don't you tell me?"

Yeah, why not?

"Cuddy just wants to make sure I'm not stressing myself out about everything."

Oh.

"Oh, okay."

House hears her heavy footsteps walking away.

"Cameron!"

A pause.

"You're alright…being here, right?"

His ears strain for her undoubtedly softer voice.

"Yeah. Of course."


	29. Round we go

"_I swear if this is some practical joke, I'm going to kill both of you." She stops halfway into his hospital room, her gaze flicking over his body lying motionless on the bed with wires attached to his body and connecting him the machines that demand to be heard before finding Wilson looking at her with dark circles under his eyes._

"_Someone got a hold of him outside his apartment last night."_

_Cameron shuts her eyes, a strong wave of nausea overcoming her senses as her head simultaneously begins to feel light and quite unsteady. His arms are holding onto her shoulders when she realizes he's trying to get her attention._

"_Cameron? You okay? Here, sit down."_

_He just looks like he's sleeping. God, he can't really be in a coma. There's no way._

"_Cameron?!"_

_She quits looking at the man who'd just hours ago had broken her heart in her own apartment and turns her focus back onto the man asking a million confused questions with dark brown eyes._

"_I just heard about it. I thought…I thought it was a joke. I figured when you didn't call back that you'd found him and went drinking or somewhere together. Why didn't you call me?" It's not hysteria creeping into her voice. It can't be. _

_Wilson frowns softly, his left calf beginning to ache from his crouching position. "Why didn't I--. I didn't think about it. I just…."_

_The hand covering her face is nothing like her own, but she recognizes the lines of her palm covering her eyes and the slight scent of the doughnut she'd eaten on the way here, before she knew about House, before, before, before. _

"_Tell me," her throat catches softly with her eyes still covered, " there's no brain damage."_

"_You know we can't tell. We won't know un…until he wakes up." _

_The strange hands fall from her face to her lap. Unless. Unless or until. There's a strong need to hold her still nearly flat abdomen, to feel something alive and growing, to know there is still something to hold onto, but she doesn't._

"_I'm pregnant with House's kid."_

_Not expecting the short laugh, she stares at him as he genuinely believes she's joshing him. If only. He must realize it by then since his laugh fades out, just like in the many movies she's watched with the comatose man lying beside her._

"_You're serious?"_

"_Yeah."_

_They both hold the others tired and completely worried stares before Wilson glances down her stomach and then to his friend in a delightful coma. _

_-_

Cameron, determined not to get angry, merely glances at the young new doctor who'd bumped into her with doughnut and coffee in hand and offered an 'I'm sorry' before skirting out of the situation so fast, there's no one around to help her pick up the paperwork she'd been forced to relinquish to the floor.

Bracing one hand on the wall and the other on her extended stomach, Cameron slowly and gingerly squats, hoping with all her might she'll have enough energy to pull herself up.

If Chase hadn't watched her cry her soul out a few nights earlier, he would have kept walking, not wanting to face her again. But things have changed since then, and he doesn't keep walking. In fact, he makes the detour, turning to his left down the McCarthy wing just to see her, reminding him of the early times when such an act had been done for stolen smiles and shared lips.

"Here, let me help you."

She sighs, still picking up the papers one by one and not meeting his eyes. "Thanks. I feel like a whale."

He bites his lip, holding the last of the mishandled papers in his hand. "You're eight months pregnant."

"Today," Cameron smiles, forgetting the darkness between them and instantly seeing the flash of hurt as it crosses over his face. Her smile falters substantially as she grasps the loose sheaf of papers in his outstretched hand. "Chase, I – ."

"You need help getting up?"

It shouldn't take over a year for her to keep reminding herself she broke his heart twice. "Can you just give me an arm?"

Even the smell of her hasn't changed, he thinks as they slowly ease up into a standing position.

"Thanks, Chase."

Cameron wants to give him something, anything more than 'thanks', but she knows there's no point. There aren't a lot of points in her life anymore, and so all she can do is nod at him as she walks away, taking the same route he'd come to find her with another unmade point nearly colliding into her.

If it had been anyone other than House she probably would have dropped her paperwork again, but he's the one person that makes her clench more than relax instinctively. Their bodies brush against each other and she can almost tell herself that she doesn't miss it, the soft contact of his fabric on hers, his skin on her own, of his breath falling down her neck.

All he does is glance at her, silence surrounding him as he steps to the side and begins his trademarked limp past her.

She fights the need to turn and watch him, just to see if for once he looks back. If she had, she'd have seen Chase watching the crippled man with a wary eye, a newfound determination gathering in his bones as he contemplates his greatest deed ever. But she doesn't.

-

"What the hell is your problem?"

"My mama took away my baba?"

"She's pregnant with your kid. _Yours_."

House stands from behind his desk, his humor non-existent at the mere mention of his _situation_. "Get out."

Chase uncrosses his arms, letting them fall to his sides calmly as he tips his chin forward at House's next jab.

"Pretty boy, this has nothing to do with you."

Without hesitation, Chase takes a step closer, meeting the desk at his thighs and relishing that he's so close to House and the man doesn't even know it. He sure as hell will now.

"You don't get to treat her this way. She's under enough stress as it is. You don't get to be an ass to her!"

House doesn't even realize that he's reached for the comfortable walking stick, until he slams the cane down on his desk. The whack as it hits the solid wood and the soft fluttering a few loose pieces of paper doesn't begin to express his annoyance.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"Neither do you!"

"I might be a crippled but you've got five seconds to get your ass out of here before I kick it out!"

"Let me see you try! I'm pretty sure my two healthy young legs aren't a match for you!"

They move at the same time. Two grown men rounding the desk with nothing but hostility washing off their skin and expressions as they face each other with just a breath between them.

"I'm a generous crippled. One last chance."

"I'm not leaving until I say what needs to be said."

"There's not a damn thing to be said, Chase! It's none of your business! Do you understand that!?"

"No, it's not my business. But I care about Cameron! Even if you don't, I do! What's hard to understand about that!?"

"So, what? You're here to ask for my blessings to date her again!? Don't bother!"

Chase leans forward, surprised that he dares to get so close to the man who'd once ruled his life. This is no time for memories of a past that's so far gone, it's not even forgotten. It's 'never was.'

"If anyone's asking for blessings, I think that falls on you."

There's a great pleasure in balling his fist in the surgeon's scrubs at the point where the V meets his t-shirt underneath. House doesn't mind that the younger man doesn't gasp or try to wrangle free as he pushes him into the glass wall separating his office from the conference room. Chase's back makes contact and the wall shudders briefly under their bodies as the older man finally lets go with a step back.

House opens his mouth, but after second thought, shuts it as he stares at the blonde man before him who doesn't look shaken at all. If anything, he looks like he's vindicated, and that rubs House in a way he can't express. He reaches for his cane, lying forgotten on the cluttered desk before in a silent scream. That's become familiar.

"I envy you, House."

Chase watches House's back tense, his shoulders stiffening and his head dropping slightly as his entire body stands still at the sound of a voice that's so different from his own, and yet just the same. Chase rubs the back of his neck slowly, feeling the ache of an entire year finally bearing down on him as responsibility.

"She's having your child." He bites the corner of his lower lips lightly as he folds his arms, the wall still holding his body up. "And you just walk past her without saying a word."

"It doesn't matter," House interrupts gruffly, not bothering to turn around, feeling something like safety as he stares at his desk. "_You_ don't matter."

"I don't," Chase agrees, wondering why House is suddenly listening now after their small tussle. "She does and your baby _should_."

"I don't need someone to tell me what I should care about."

"But you're listening to me, aren't you?"

With a shake of his shoulders, House moves out of his hypnotic state and turns around to face Chase. "And now I'm not."

"She never told you what happened between me and her?"

"Amnesia, idiot. I wouldn't remember even if I wanted to." House begins limping towards the door.

Chase doesn't move, content to stay in his idle pace of storytelling. "I was the one who left her."

He spies House's hand freeze on the door handle and although he's afraid that if he moves, he'll lose whatever gravity he has on his former boss, he's tired of worrying about what he does. Chase moves to sit in the chair in front of the desk, wondering if the bastard in denial-land will understand the invitation. Give in to the curiosity.

He does.


	30. Listen closely

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

With a clearing of his throat, Chase focuses on a lone jack missing its partners and a rather miserable marble that's probably

With a clearing of his throat, Chase focuses on a lone jack missing its partners and a rather miserable marble that's probably rolled off onto the floor as a means of escape.

"House…."Chase finally looks up across the desk at House, his fingers dancing on his thighs in anxiety. "When you remember being with her, what do you feel?"

He could be honest. Tell him what he remembers is comfort, laziness, rest, even love. It's none of his business.

"Like I'm shooting up heroine rainbows."

"You know what _I_ remember?"

The intensity of the look on his face, of the tone behind the words, makes House lean back slightly, almost as if waiting for the string to break.

"I remember feeling happy." His eyes flickering down to the floor for a brief second, Chase smiles softly. "Not always, but most times. She just had this way of lighting up your day."

* * *

_  
"Oh, hell."_

_"What?" She asks innocently as she straddles him carefully on the sofa with a huge smile covering her face._

_  
"You've been extra nice to me since you walked through my door."_

_  
"And you've been a grump since…well, always. I can't just be in a good mood?"_

_  
"You're cheery. I think it's contagious."_

_  
Cameron snorts as she grabs both his hands and toys with his fingers, forcing his gaze away from the television to focus on her slender digits stroking his softly. He briefly wonders why she constantly has to touch him, and why he lets her. Though the last answer is easy. He likes her touching him._

_  
"Even if it were, you'd be the last person to be susceptible to it, so I think you'll be fine, Grinch."_

_  
House keeps watching her hands, concentrating on his tactile senses, enjoying a small moment for once. _

_  
"So, what's up? There's gotta be a reason for all this sickening joy. Cuddy die?"_

_  
"You're awful!" Cameron leans down, breaking his concentration as she catches his gaze. "I just feel happy today. That's not a crime no matter how many times you try to make me write a letter to our Congressmen."_

_  
She kisses him on his nose quickly, followed by on his cheek, then on his forehead, and by the time she reaches his chin, he's thoroughly annoyed. And she knows it. It's why she does it, a smile in between kisses even as he moves his head away from her silly actions. Feeling her laughing against his neck, he rolls his eyes, making sure she sees him do so. _

_  
"You know you like it." Cameron pinches his cheek and gets a slap on the hand which causes her to laugh louder. _

* * *

"What does this have to do with anything?"

With a shake of his head, Chase stands, the energy roaming through his veins making him restless and the adrenaline gushing since he's decided to stay and fight. Pacing, he sticks his hands in the pockets of his scrub bottoms.

"You're a real son of a bitch. You know that?"

"Give me a moment to act surprised."

"And I thought _I_ was the biggest asshole when I left her," he mutters as he turns his back to House, not quite wanting to see if this will make any difference when he's finished his mission, maybe not wanting to see it if it does.

"We'd been having problems for a while."

"Surprise, surprise."

"Don't, House." He finally turns around, his expression much more tired and drained than before, but a warning all the same. "Just let me…finish this."

Instead of telling Chase to make this less dramatic, he keeps his mouth shut, not quite sure if his attitude will match the intensity of hurt that filters through the surgeon's words, and sure enough that he needs to quench his curiosity.

"Her brother invited her stay in Missouri with him for a week. She thought we should go together, get away from here…."

Quietly this time, House interrupts the jittery long pause. "From me?"

Looking at House silently, Chase smiles without humor edging around his lips.

"Not everything's about you. As much as it is _now_, it wasn't _then_."

Chase picks a spot behind House's shoulder, satisfied enough that it at least looks like he's trying.

"I'd never seen her so…well, you know Cameron – No fun and all work. But she wasn't there. I don't think I'd loved her more than those first two days."

House barely listens as Chase continues on a sideways track of thought, fighting the urge to rub his forehead because he doesn't want to hear about Chase loving her. Instead, he swallows two vicodin before catching the tail end of a sentence.

"…was late. Her brother woke me up. I thought he was drunk since I couldn't make any sense of what he was saying, and then he practically dragged me out the bed by my hair out to the car. All I remember next…is seeing the light from the lamp post reflected off the windshield, the glare almost covering her face."

* * *

-(_Chase_)

_  
He nearly trips on his way down the steps, his feet suddenly five sizes to large and his legs still numb from sleep. Her worry is evident in the frown on her forehead and the downward pulling of her mouth, and he has to fumble with the door handle three times before finally shoving himself in the back seat. _

_  
"What's wrong, Cameron?"_

_  
Craning his neck over the shoulder of his seat, he nearly jerks back as they slide into reverse. That's when he sees it. Her hands shaking against the light green towel she's halfway sitting on and halfway holding between her legs. And the blood, the dark blood that he tries to tell himself is just his bleary eyesight tricking him. It doesn't make sense._

_  
"I don't know," she states softly, shaking her head as she looks down into her lap and swallows harshly. "I don't know. I really don't."_

_  
All he can think is that he's going to be sick. His breath burns his mouth as he drags his hand down her shoulder and arm, trying to comfort her, only to have her sit there as if he's not even here._

_  
"Allison…."_

_  
There's a difference between knowing, and accepting, and he knows he's already one step ahead of her._

* * *

"She was bleeding. By the time we got to the hospital, there was nothing they could do. Not that they could've done anything to begin with."

Chase brings his hand to his mouth, feeling the pressure against his lips and finding it hard not to feel anything but pain. He shouldn't have to tell anyone this, let anyone see this, especially House.

"It was a spontaneous abortion." He looks at the man watching him from behind the desk, wanting to see any kind of emotion, and only finding surprise. It's not enough.

"She lost a nine week old fetus, House."

House blankly stares at Chase, not believing it for a long breath, not willing to accept the story as anything more than fiction and almost laughing at the sheer ludicrousness of it, except he can't. Because she'd never….There'd never been….And he'd left her...

"I don't believe you."

Chase's eyes suddenly darken, perturbed at the subtle accusation. "Yeah, you do. Still think you're the harmed party in all this?"

"Okay, so she miscarried. Sounds like nothing to do with me and more to do with you. You _did_ say you were the one who left her."

Defensive, Chase clenches his mouth before speaking. "Yeah, I did. She never cried. Refused to talk to me about it, which is rather out of character for her. After a few months, I figured I'd tell her I wanted to try on purpose to get pregnant, and she said no.

"I don't know when I became you, but I left her on a Wednesday, telling her that I was ready to take the next step and she knew where to find me. I figured some time alone would maybe, put her back into shape, make her realize she wanted a family with me."

He pauses as he sits down in the chair again. "I was there for her, House, but I wasn't what she needed and I maybe I left too soon. I _know_ I left too soon. There was just only so much rejection I could take. There's only so much rejection any one can take.

"So, why do you think she didn't tell you? Because she loves you? She's lost everyone in her life but her brother. She lost her child, lost me, lost you, and now she's pregnant again.

"All she can think about is that something is going to happen to her or the baby, and then...it wouldn't have mattered to begin with. But you won't shut up about how wrong she is for caring about you." Chase scoffs. "The woman sacrifices everything for the people she loves, but she won't sacrifice your kid for you.

"She might love you, but everything she's done is for herself and her child. You've rejected her enough, and she's finally caught onto that."**  
**


	31. I never hated you

House eyes the lone jack on his desk, halfway wondering where the other pairs are and where the marble has run off to. It's easier to think about that than the boy sitting opposite him.

Chase rises, his hands rubbing his face as he walks across the room, his hand on the handle before he hears House's voice.

"What's this supposed to change?"

A few errant strands of long blonde hair travel over his eyes before he answers.

"For the longest time, I figured because you were right about everything, you were someone I wanted to be like. Things do change, House. I'm not afraid of you anymore, and I don't even hate you now. I just…I just don't care.

"You're having what should be my child with who should be my girlfriend. I don't really cares if it changes anything. If it wasn't for her baby, I wouldn't want it to. But you should know. You like to know everything."

* * *

He doesn't exactly know what he's doing. That's becoming an increasingly familiar feeling. The rattle of his vicodin is comforting until after he's swallowed two for courage and he still hasn't moved. House can see her from here.

Her hair is wrapped in that all too common bun, her bangs barely behind her ears, the white lab coat thrown carelessly on a chair, her fingers typing a few strokes before staring at the computer screen and moving away to look under a microscope. She's got that signature waddle and he almost wants to smile, except that's when she spies him standing out in the corridor.

Opening the door to the lab, House glances at her a few times before finally picking the centrifuge as his designated staring spot.

"From head of an entire department to token intern. Figured Cuddy would turn all Delta Burke like in that Lifetime baby movie."

Cameron doesn't move a muscle.

"Watch out for shopping carts. Actually, look out for syringes, or stretchers, or defibrillators, or pills, or – I didn't realize there were so many ways to kill someone in a hospital."

House shuts his mouth, only realizing at the last that he's rambling.

Frowning softly, Cameron takes off her glasses and sets them on her small stack of papers.

"What are you doing here?"

It'd be really great if he knew, but he doesn't.

"I don't know,' he replies before thinking and mentally guffawing at himself.

Instead of trying to figure out anything, Cameron blinks before turning around to situate herself on the chair and continue her tests. She can feel his awkwardness radiating outwards like tiny tendrils of heat and untethered gas, but the time for needing to care has come and gone with his insistence.

"Can I help you with something, House?"

_Yeah, talk to me like you used to._ He watches her, noting the well played apathy, and shakes his head.

"No."

When she puts her glasses back on, House lowers his chin, counting the seconds to when she gives in. Reaching fifty-four, it starts to dawn on him that she's not the same woman he remembers. She's not giving in so easily. Good for her. Not so much for him.

"House, what do you want from me?!"

He starts as she slams her pen down beside the mouse and takes a deep breath as she pulls herself out of the chair. She braces her hands on her hips as best she can, her glasses slightly angled on her nose, as she waits for his answer with pursed lips.

"What is it, House?" She scoffs roughly. "What are you doing _here_?"

They've done this long enough for him to know that the truth won't get him anywhere, and neither will the lie. Maybe, if this had been sooner and he hadn't said this or that, either choice would have pulled them forward. But right now, as her upper lip twitches in anger or sadness, or probably both, he's as damned as he'll ever be.

"You want to tell me how wrong I am?" She reaches for the papers she's been hoarding. "I know how you feel. Okay? I get it." Clipping the pen onto the pocket of her scrub top, she shakes her head. "I'm selfish. I know." She grabs her lab coat with a jerk and finally looks up at him, her eyes more shiny than she realizes.

"So, what do you _want_ from me? You want to hear 'sorry?' Okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I thought I could leave you, the almighty House, in the dark. I'm sorry for trying to be your friend. I'm sorry for thinking you might care one bit for my baby. I'm sorry, damnit."

"Good."

It's the first word that slinks through, a little too sarcastic and not quite abstract as it had sounded in his head as he'd thought it. Though, he'd never had the intention of saying it to begin with. It's been too taxing a day for him, and it's just become one for her as he sees her jaw drop just the slightest. Not good.

"I didn't –."

"You know what?" she smiles tightly. "Save it."

"Cameron!" he shouts as she walks past him. "Damnit, I didn't mean to say that. I came here to call a truce."

Cameron halts, her back still to him, her eyes closing as she bites her tongue. When she turns around, she doesn't know what she's going to say, but she does know what she won't. The repressed moments of wanting to tell him 'I love you' are behind her, lost somewhere between a drugged kid and a string of barbs directed at her. She's quit trying to pick them up. She's got other things to worry about now.

"You call truce?" She hopes the mirth in her voice doesn't slip past him. "How very gallant of you, House."

"I mean it. I…figure it's all amniotic fluid under the pregnant bridge."

"What's changed?"

"What?"

"What's changed?" Cameron steps closer to him, needing to see every little fleck of deceit or honesty cross his features.

"Why the sudden change of heart, House?"

"Besides the face that I gave back the presents to the kids in the oncology ward? Nothing."

"You don't change your mind unless something changes."

"I do too."

"Which means you're just saying this for some twisted reason just to torture me."

"I berate you and you get mad. I try to make things better and you get mad. Maybe you're the one who's the sadist."

"Kick a dog long enough and it'll finally stay away."

He's slightly taken aback for no other reason than the fact Chase is right. Which certainly can't be right, but there's no denying that resilient look in her eyes, the only kind of resilience that comes from being beaten by him. He can't even find anything to say, other than 'I'm sorry,' though he's really not and a lie will only complicate things.

It's the first time she's admitted anything like this aloud, the rejection, at least. The moment the words leave her lips, so does the fight, the energy, the bark. She stares at him, her breathing becoming even in the aftermath of frenzied anger, her shoulders losing the tension that makes her back tighten, and then she sighs.

"House, I – I don't know what kind of game you're tryin –."

"I'm not." He focuses on her shoulder. "You screwed up. I screwed up. Everyone keeps telling me to get over it. I'm just jumping on the bandwagon for the little shots of tequila and the off chance it tips over due to Cuddy's breasts."

She doesn't believe him. Not even nearly. But this is the first ray of light at the end of a long tunnel, and while every fiber of her tired being is telling her to leave him be, she just can't. Not yet. He hasn't quashed all her hope. It doesn't mean she's an idiot, though.

"What does this truce mean?"

"It means we don't hate each other."

He can't give her too much, and he's not even sure he can take what she wants to give. He hopes she doesn't misunderstand it.

"I never hated you," she whispers as she turns her head.

House lets his thumb brush the curve of his cane. "I can't say the same."

The last thing she should feel is relief, but there it is, soaking through her bones. A lie means he's lied this whole conversation; the truth means some of it's been real. Cameron catches the flicker of his gaze travel beyond her and she taps the papers in her hands softly.

"Okay. Truce."

She walks out then, leaving House to deflate subtly in the absence of her tattered guilt, in the absence of her hazy fire, in the absence of her. It's the first time since he's found out, that he accepts their past, accepts that he used to love her, and accept that sometimes he misses her. Or it could just be the slight guilt talking.


	32. We're masters

The re-runs of 'Secret diary of a Call Girl' play with no sound, not unusual, but he's not even staring at the television. Resting one arm under his head, House's other hand thumps his chest rhythmically as he stares at the ceiling from his supine position.

Things have quieted down at the hospital, which is strange since it's just been one day since he and Cameron waved their respective white flags in the air. He hasn't seen Chase, which isn't strange, but awkward.

Wilson tracked him down earlier today, a curious air of calm surrounding him as he sat down at the lunch table. They'd talked about everything except Cameron and the baby, which was good. As much as he needs Wilson, he can't just forget that the man was willing to raise a child that was his best friend's.

And as much as he would like to go back to the way things were before, he realizes the only reason he's even here is because he couldn't keep his nose out of her business. He really should learn to let sleeping dogs lie.

But now there' a kid. His kid.

'Brennan', he almost says out loud to no one but his shelves and books. It should mean something, the name that is, as it filters through his mind. But it doesn't because the kid's still not real, not quite human, barely even his. This is supposed to be the part where he feels the connection isn't it? Where the child growing inside of her is suddenly and undeniably his and no one else's, and some type of bond is supposed to link father and child.

He's reminded of his father. No, this isn't that part.

And that unnerves him.

House sits, moving his limbs slowly until he's leaning on his knees, his head almost bowed in the position of a prayer. There are some things a child shouldn't be subjected to, especially by his own father, his own blood. He's been shown more than once that love is rarely love, and it's never unconditional. Just because the kid is his, doesn't mean he'll even care. Just because he feels possessive of the kid now, doesn't mean he will a year from now.

He won't be like his father; he can't be. But what if he ends up like him anyways? He can't chance that.

* * *

Having every intention of breaking it to her easily, that civility is all he can offer her and her child, House squares his shoulders as she opens her door.

"House."

"Keeping me out here so you can protect your food stash?"

She's torn between making him stay out here because the last time he was inside it didn't end well, and letting him in since he's actually come here of his own accord. That shouldn't be punished. It should be celebrated. Cameron steps aside, allowing the door to swing open from the slight force of his cane.

Was it really over five months ago that he was standing here last?

"It's pretty late. What are you doing here?"

"I, uh," he suddenly doesn't want to tell her. "I remembered you saying you couldn't put together the crib." House nods in the direction of the crib, still halfway finished in the corner of the living room.

"And you're here to…fix it?"

"Sure," he replies as he begins to walk over, only to have her stand in front of the unhinged pieces so she's blocking him.

"Please, I uh, I don't want you to put it together."

House looks at her, reading the rest of the statement in her body language. 'Just in case I won't need it anyways.' He pushes it.

"What are you going to do when the kid comes? Have your sock drawer ready?"

"No," she sighs, "I'll have it finished it by then."

"I can do it now."

Cameron takes a step towards him as he tries to advance, holding her hand up so that it pushes against the center of his t-shirt and she can feel his sternum pressing against her palm. "I don't want you to touch it."

'You might jinx it,' he reads, and abruptly he's tired of having to read between the lines she creates. She's the one who wanted this and now she's trying to stop him. She's…Christ, she's the one telling him all she wants is civility.

As if her hand is burning his flesh, House steps back quickly, turning his body away so she can't try to see what he's thinking.

"What do you want from me?" he asks, his voice huskier than it's been in a long while. All of a sudden, it doesn't matter that he came here to dash any forlorn hope in her. Now he's here to know where they stand after the forfeit.

If only she knew. "What do you want from _me_?"

"Cameron," he begins to limp slowly, needing to rid some of his frustration. "I don't know what I'm doing. You want one thing and the next thing I know you change your mind."

"The same goes for you."

Well, that's the truth. House stops, leaning against the kitchen counter and barely able to see her silhouette out of the corner of his eye. They just seem to be missing each other. He wonders if it's on purpose, and if it is, on whose side.

"Look, House." Cameron leans against the chair beside her coffee table. "You made it clear that you don't want a baby. So, I…I don't know why you're doing this. But I think it's good. That you're trying, because you normally don't. But I'm not asking you to take responsibility."

He turns his head, needing to see her expression, needing to see if the lines are meant to be read, but she's not lying this time. She empties the space between them slowly, her bare feet not even whispering on the floor.

They stand there for a long time, comfortable and itchy at the same time at the memories that are just at the cusp of being remembered. Cameron imagines this is a month ago, before everything spiraled out of control, when they still had a good chance, when they were both more innocent.

"I'm not here to make promises, Cameron."

She glances down, and when she stares at him again, he's surprised to see the hint of tilted lips. "I never expected you to. I just kinda wanted you to. A long time ago, anyways."

Leaning into him, he thinks she's going to kiss him or hug him for some insane reason, and his eyelids lower as his nose takes in a breath to inhale the scent of something cinnamoney and peanut-buttery. That's when he hears the slight rustle of papers beside his arm and he looks behind him to see the open parenting books, papers with test results and cards that wish her well, along with a few ultrasounds that beg for his attention.

"Are you going to ask if I want one?"

Cameron feels her hands falter for just a beat before she stuffs what she can in a book and closes the lid so he can't snoop. There's only so much she can offer, no matter how far he's come to her since even he isn't exempt from the sides of Karma.

"No."

"I would've said no anyways."

Putting space between them again, she makes her way towards the door and opens it for him, watching as he taps against his thigh before finally limping towards her.

"Really?" She means for it to sound less heavy than it is, a kind of joke to try and balance the darkness in their lives and talks. He stops right beside her, looking down at her as if he wants to bite her, taste her. She wants him to make the joke.

"No."

And then he's gone, almost as if he was never here, as if he never left, but that's how it's always been between them.

* * *

He thinks, as he waits for the elevator, that Chase is wrong.

* * *

_  
Cameron shakes her head as she throws her bag on her coffee table and meanders over to where he's sitting on the counter in her small kitchen._

_  
"We were supposed to meet at that pizza place on Welch Street an hour ago."_

_  
House shrugs his shoulder as he braces his hands on either side of his hips and shoves himself down to the floor on one leg. Reaching for his cane, he merely glances at her as she grabs it before he can._

_  
"I had something I had to do."_

_  
"And you couldn't call?"_

_  
"No, I could've. I just didn't."_

_  
"Where were you?"_

_"Somewhere. Gimme."_

_She holds the cane behind her and braces one hand in front of her. "Just answer the question."_

_  
"You're not my keeper."_

_  
"I __**am**__ your girlfriend."_

_  
"Means nothing."_

_"Why won't you tell me?"_

_  
"Because it's none of your business! Now, give me my cane."_

_  
"You don't have to yell, House."_

_  
"If you'd stop acting like such a girl, I wouldn't. What I do is my own business."_

_  
"I waited for you for an hour!"_

_  
"So? I don't care."_

_  
"You," she shuts her mouth tightly and extends the cane in her hand. "Go."_

_  
Cameron doesn't watch as he walks out, instead, resigning herself to leaning against the counter. Happy two month anniversary._

* * *

_There's only so much rejection anyone can take.  
_  
Yeah, but they're pretty much kung-fu masters of rejection.


	33. Nice chest

"You find an apartment?"

Cameron sticks the yogurt covered spoon in her mouth to buy her some time as she raises her eyebrows.

"You're kidding me."

With a small shrug, she watches Wilson roll his eyes before shaking his head softly. "I've got time," she replies around the spoon on her tongue.

"You've got less than a month before your baby comes."

"Plenty of time."

He pointedly stares at her and she returns the expression with an extra squint. Cameron rolls up the aluminum cover of her yogurt and flicks it at him, smiling as he breaks his gaze and scoffs.

"Nice chest, _House_."

"Thank you. Saleswoman said it'd take a miracle to look like I had chest, but she doesn't know how genius I can be."

Wilson and Cameron both turn to House who begins to sit between them at the lunch table with a banana in his hand.

"What? Are they uneven? I should've known better than to take Cuddy's tips."

"Did you pay for your food?"

"No."

Wilson frowns softly. "Then how'd you get that banana?"

"Shifted the other one over."

"I'm sure that wasn't too hard," Wilson smirks.

"Cameron knows." House winks at her. "Go on and tell him sweetheart."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Cameron breathily states as she stands.

Sticking a grape in his mouth, Wilson tilts his head, saying, "Still got the magic touch, I see."

House follows her figure as it disappears past the entrance to the cafeteria, taking a quick bite before looking back to Wilson.

"What'd she eat?"

"Uh, the yogurt."

Picking the empty container up, he rolls his eyes. "No wonder. She's supposed to be eating whole cows and ice cream with pickles."

"There's nothing wrong with eating yogurt."

"Women use pregnancy as a blameless get out of jail fat free card to eat whatever they usually don't allow themselves."

"Right, because you've been around so many pregnant women."

"Because I'm a doctor. And because I don't have to be around your hotel room to know it reeks of desperation."

"True, since you smell it on yourself all the time."

With a swift toss, House rids his hand of the banana peel, watching it land on the floor.

"I walked into that one."

"Pretty much."

"You don't want her do you?"

"Guh," Wilson chokes out, pounding his chest as the bitter taste of the coffee burns his mouth and warms small spots on the front of his shirt. "What?"  
"Nevermind."

With a quick jerk of his arm House stands up and walks away, leaving Wilson to stare at the empty place beside him.

* * *

"What the hell was that?"

"Trying to sleep here."

"House!"

Wilson grabs the hem of the blazer covering the semi-reclined man's head and body and jerks it away.

"What, Wilson?!"

"Why would you even – there's no – she's your –."

"It's really annoying when you think I can finish your sentences."

"And it's really annoying when you ask me if I want the woman who's about to pop your kid out. Who asks that?"

"I don't know. Maybe some poor schmuck who knows a guy, who knows a girl that they both know and finds out the girl is pregnant with the schmuck's kid and thinks about raising it as his own? Since, obviously, the guy's a schmuck."

"Are you ever going to let this go?"

Wilson rubs his forehead as House stands, watching the man limp forward without his cane.

"I'm sorry, House. I was wrong. What else do you want me to say? What can I say or do to make this better?!"

"If you could just rewind a few months, that'd be _awesome_."

Forcing one hand into his pocket, Wilson shakes his head, taking one step towards the door before thinking better of it and turning towards House.

"I don't have feelings for Cameron."

"Did you?"

It doesn't matter. They both know it. But House just wants to know, wants to know how close he was to being perfectly ignorant, maybe even perfectly betrayed. And Wilson doesn't want to admit how, for a just a moment, he wanted things to stay as they were, secretive and useful.

"She was just looking for someone to be friends with."

"And you let her come to you."

"The woman was a wreck."

With a quick jerk of his lips, House rests against his desk. "And you loved that, right?"

"I'm _there _for the people I care about. You know that better than anyone."

"Did you ever feel guilty?"

He stares at House, his mouth slowly slackening at the question. Of course he did. Every day he sat beside that nearly lifeless bed he felt the guilt eating him alive for something he hadn't even done. He decides to turn the question around since he's not the only one who needs to rectify his actions.

"Do you?"

House doesn't expect it. He should, considering his best friend knows him better than anyone else.

"Everyone knows I don't have feelings."

"If you didn't, we wouldn't be standing here."

"No, we'd be standing in Cuddy's office laughing about her granny panties."

"Is it really so hard to admit that the reason you care is because you're not over her?"

There's silence, though neither is surprised this time.

"She couldn't have you so she came to me. Not so illicit after all. Kind of sad really."

As Wilson walks out, he wonders if this is the last time they'll have to have this conversation. They usually don't have to do this – revisit the scene of a crime, since it's easier to not think about it. But if this is what it takes, then he'll do it.

* * *

"Leaving so early?"

His fingers deftly zip his backpack closed and he stares at the clasps, waiting to hear her close the door bearing his name. Turning, he swings one strap over his shoulder.

"It's not even four. I'm leaving late."

Cameron nods her head softly, not even giving in to the urge to roll her eyes.

"I figured Cuddy would have you down in the clinic to make up for your coma hours."

He can't even stop the small smile until it's too late. "She feels sorry for me."

"You're kidding me."

"Nope," he takes a few steps toward her. "Isn't that neat?"

"More like exploitation."

"Which makes it so much funner."

"You ever going to let Wilson off the hook?"

Why is it they keep throwing him curves?

"What'd he tell you?"

She steps forward with a shrug of her shoulders, both hands clasped behind her back.

"Not enough to stop me from coming to you."

The way she looks up at him, worry barely hiding behind her eyes, makes him glance behind her at the realization she might be here for Wilson's sake. She might be here to protect someone she wants in her child's life.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you do."

It's said without hesitation, making the statement sound as true as he thinks she believes it is. He knows she never lies if she can help it. Even though she _did _lie to him before, he's known her long enough to expect the truth more often now.

"It's just guy stuff."

Her eyes search his face, looking for anything really since it's been so long and by now it's habit, a habit that's itching to be used.

"You really think I'd let him be the dad to your child?"

Of course, Cameron already knows the answer. She just wants to hear him say it. She wants him to hear it himself and maybe recognize how ridiculous it sounds.

"It's not a bad choice. He's a doctor, has money, would love the blob more than anything else, won't hurt the kid, would listen to you and the kid, plus he's dependable and stable."

"Well," she comes closer to him, stopping an angry pen trying to escape from a pocket by pushing it back in and zipping the pocket tightly.

"Are you mad at him, or yourself?"

He looks down at her, not realizing how intense his look is becoming until she begins to back away from him with a downward shift of her eyes.

The unanswered question fades as she walks out and he's left standing.


	34. Open the door

_Cameron flexes her fingers before crossing her arms over her chest so she quits fidgeting. She waits for him to say something, but she could wait for eons and never get one step closer to an answer._

"_What do you want, House?"_

"_It's three o'clock."_

"_I know."_

_Her features are hard, demanding something from him that he thinks she should quit asking for. _

"_Thanks to your brilliance, she's expecting both of us."_

"_Why don't you lie? You like doing that."_

_House shakes his head roughly, beginning to feel the walls of the short hallway trying to swallow him. _

"_Just come on."_

"_No."_

"_If you don't come, she's going to ask me a million questions that ultimately end in me telling her that you're cheating on me with your ex. And then she'll give me that 'I know you're lying' look and immediately know that I've screwed up again."_

"_You should have thought about that before you griped at me for almost an hour after she called."_

"_Which I wouldn't have had to do if you'd have ignored my ringing cell phone."_

"_You were in the shower and it was six in the morning on a Saturday!"_

"_Exactly! Why would you pick up the phone?"  
She takes a hostile step forward, her mouth tight and dark. "Because it was six in the morning on a weekend I was off and I thought the ringing was from my phone. I forgot where I was."_

_He's the one to take a powerful step to her this time. _

"_That didn't stop you from making lunch plans with her!"_

"_What was I supposed to say? 'No, I can't because your son is too stubborn and refuses to acknowledge any semblance of a relationship with me.'"_

"_Sounds fine to me."_

_With another step, she advances, able to feel the tough fabric of his blazer across her folded forearms._

"_You need to get over yourself."_

_It's subtle, the slight movement of his head lowering and hers moving forward until their gazes are locked in silence for a long pause of rushed feet and papers being written on. _

"_I'm not going to wait for you forever, House."_

_The closeness is too much for him and he steps back with a hand already flying to his vicodin. _

"_What do you possibly expect from me? I mean, seriously, what's wrong with you?"_

"_What's wrong with me is that I was friendly to your mother. God forbid she think you're happy."_

"_I'm not happy."_

"_Neither am I."_

* * *

"You texted me?"

Cameron wipes her mouth on a napkin before shaking her head. "You texted me."

Standing in front of her table, House leans on his cane with a sigh. "I think, and I know my brain's still a little screwed up from the coma, that we've been played."

"It would seem so." She looks at him a little longer, her fingers dancing across the table as if she's nervous.

"You might as well sit down, House."

The invitation is given freely, and whether or not he would have sat down without it, he's glad she's given it. The chair scrapes against the floor loudly, a few heads turning their way to look at the man sitting down opposite the pregnant woman.

Motioning towards the booths beside them, he says, "Can't fit in the booth?"

She picks up a fry and dips it into her ketchup.

"That's not funny."

"I'm pretty sure it is. What's this place called again?"

"The Pizza Place."

"Someone had a brain hemorrhage thinking of that name."

He doesn't see her smile, his gaze focused on the open menu and the absolute feeling of discomfort beginning to envelope him.

"House?"

"What?"

Fingers appear at the top of his menu and he stares at them as they pull the menu down to the small table, even long after they've left the laminated paper, he looks down at the spot they held.

"House?"

No time for showing weakness. He finally looks at her.

"You don't have to stay here. I mean," she leans forward on her elbows, "I can eat by myself if you –."

"No." He scratches his neck softly. "I'm starving."

Cameron smiles widely, not noticing as she picks up a slice of pizza that he almost smiles back.

* * *

"You're Dr. House?"

"Never heard of him."

The clerk at the front desk looks at House's cane before accepting the cash for their meal.

"He said you'd have a cane and a pregnant woman with you."

Taking a closer look at the middle aged man, House takes a mint beside the register and begins to unwrap it.

"He say why he told you to look out for this Dr. House?"

"He said to give you this."

The man hands House his change along with a white note card as Cameron emerges from the restroom. He doesn't hear her come up behind him, trying to peer over his shoulder as he reads it.

"What's that?"

Without hesitation he pockets the simple card with a shake of his head.

"Nothing. You ready?"

She could push him, but she won't. She's not quite sure she wants to do that game again.

"Are you kidding me?" Gently rubbing her hands over her quite distended belly, she shakes her head as he opens the front door. "I eat anymore and Brennan's going to hopping out right here."

"Just the honor alone of being born at such a place called 'The Pizza Place' should be worth it."

He falls into step with her, which is easier now that she's pregnant and she's as slow as him if not more so. A warm breeze tickles his neck and he fights the urge to look at her holding her abdomen softly.

"You parked nearby?"

"Yeah," her hair sticks to her cheek and she brushes it behind her ear carelessly. "Just up here."

A few more seconds of silence and they're standing beside her mundane vehicle, neither sure what they're supposed to do now.

"Well, I guess we have the lovely Jimmy to thank for setting this up."

"I guess," she agrees softly.

"Though," House looks up above them before glancing at her again, "he didn't pay, so I've got nothing to thank him for."

"It's not like you would've thanked him anyways."

"True, but I was talking theoretically, or hypothetically, one of those."

"Of course."

Cameron takes a quick look at her vehicle before looking back at him, noticing him doing the same thing, their eyes meeting briefly before darting off again. That's when she starts to laugh at the awkwardness that they've been dancing around this whole night.

"What's so funny?"

Covering her hand over her mouth, she shakes her head as she fights for a breath. "No, nothing, nothing like that. It's just…we're standing here like fools on our first date or something."

It's strange to hear her laugh, and almost as strange is to see her face free of the weight she doesn't realize she's carrying. Or it could just be the pregnant glow people always talk about.

"Does seem kinda backwards."

With a quick snort she nods her head. "It's _very_ backwards."

She doesn't even finish the sentence before her hands are guiding her keys to unlock the car door, the moment already behind her of half-remembered memories that are only shared with herself now.

"Goodnight, House."

"Night, Cameron," he answers, watching her retreat.

She's gone by the time he reaches back into his jeans for the folded note card. The lamppost above gives him enough light to read the written words scrawled in Wilson's hand.

**Open the door for her. Walk her to her car. Be nice. Say goodnight. And just kiss her. **

* * *

"_House?"_

_He doesn't turn his head. "Hmmm?"_

"_Are you ever happy?"_

_It'd be easy to lie, especially after their angry bout of sex that was supposed to end everything and instead keeps them tied to each other. He's not complaining. _

_House turns his head, barely able to see her eyes as they fight to stay open so late in the night, so early in the morning._

"_Sometimes."_


	35. Give me blood

Taub sighs. "If he was having an affair then…."

The trailing off causes House to look up, never breaking his uneven stride as he and his fellows watch her walk in.

"You three never see a woman after she ate a kid? Quit staring."

He steadily limps to where she's waiting by the adjoining door to his office with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Who knows how quick she digests? If I'm not back in a few minutes tell Cuddy I fought the good fight, and that her ass was the last thing on my mind."

"Don't worry about him guys," she smiles as she opens the door for him. "I don't eat anything past its expiration date. Are you busy, House?"

"If you're looking for lunch money to feed that thing, yes."

"I'm serious."

He sits down at his desk with a shake of his head. "Some woman's life hangs in the balance. Nothing serious."

"Of course not."

"So, what's up?"

Cameron takes a breath. "I've got an appointment today, and Cander was hoping to get some blood to run genetic tests on. I would've done it before, but the last few times I got near a sample of your blood I thought you had cancer and syphilis."

"You should've known better the second time around."

"I know I –. You remember that?"  
Rubbing his forehead, House shrugs his shoulders. "Some of it."

She's almost tempted to ask how much more he recalls, almost. For now, it's better for her if she believes he only remembers the bare bones of his past, their past. It makes this so much easier for some twisted reason.

"So, are you free this afternoon to get some blood drawn?"

* * *

"Seems like a slow day today."

She swabs the iodine on his arm, quick and perfunctory, before reaching for his file.

"These are good days."

"Days where you're more useless than normal."

"Says you."

"No one else is righter than me."

"And you wonder why people think you have a big ego."

"No, I wonder why people are surprised I _think_ I have a huge ego. Ow, a little warning before you stick, doctor."

Cameron looks at him, waiting for him to catch her gaze.

"Is your ego hurt?"

"Nothing a good stroking wouldn't fix."

She should look away, end the brief moment of something almost engaging. But it's brief, too brief, and so she imagines she can hold it a little longer. And then at the very moment she starts to find herself smiling, he tilts his head in a manner that causes her to take a sharp breath.

House doesn't know what's happened. One second she's light and warm, and the next she's slapping a band-aid on his arm without so much as a word. He catches her wrist, faintly feeling her blood beginning to pulse after a few seconds in his tight grasp. The small cuff of her glove rubs against his skin, almost squeaking through the friction, the need.

Trying to pull away, she stands awkwardly, only to have to bend slightly at the odd angle of his capture.

"Let go, House."

It's halfway between an order and a plea, much like their life together has been. That was always what failed them most, she thinks as she looks down at him. They never could make up their mind which end suited them best, or maybe they had, and chosen the wrong sides.

"Don't do this to me. I can't – I can't _deal_ with you now."

He wants to ask 'when' and 'why not', but his tongue is thick in his mouth at the responsibility such an answer will lay upon his shoulders. He has no right to ask her anything. He can't even promise her anything but frustration and fear, doubt and worry. Maybe all he wants are the good memories, and this is his twisted of trying to regain them.

The force is gone, fingers becoming nothing but a mixture of epithelial, skeletal, connective and nervous tissue surrounding listless pieces of short bones. Cameron gathers his vial and file, ignoring the subtle harshness in her throat as she leaves him surrounded by the hanging partitions. It's his turn to watch someone walk away.

* * *

"You think you're clever, don't you?"

Wilson watches House shut the door behind and limp towards the window to look outside.

"Never."

"We were supposed to eat there a while back."

"Who?"

House reaches for his vicodin and glances over his shoulder at Wilson.

"Me and Cameron. I think it'd just opened and she," he swallows the pills, "thought it'd be a good place to have our anniversary bonanza."

Waiting, Wilson releases the pen in his hand.

"I was going to meet her there since she was working on the ER's budget."

He puts a hand on the glass for no reason other than to distract himself more.

"I was there. I saw her through the glass looking at her watch."

He watches his hand fall, leaving an oily smudge to mar the sharpness and then turns around to rest his back on it.

"I turned around, got back on my bike, and went to her apartment. I waited for her for an hour."

"You mean she waited for _you_ for an hour?"

"Same difference."

Leaning back in his chair, Wilson rests one arm on the rest as House finally takes a few step forwards that are unusually cautious.

"You need to stop, Wilson."

"Stop what?"

With a fluid movement, House pulls the card out of his blazer pocket and flicks it onto the desk in front of him.

"I was just trying to help," he replies as he fingers the simple card.

"I don't need your help. You've done enough."

They look at each other and House sighs loudly.

"All I need is divine intervention. Not so hard to come by. So unless you can get Gabriel to play Twister with God, leave it alone."

Wilson nods.

"Okay."

* * *

"_What's wrong?"_

_She stiffens her shoulders, drawing her afghan closer to her body when he sits on her coffee table in front of her._

"_Bad day."_

_House stretches his legs out so that he can feel the pressure of her legs resting against his. He could comfort her, try to hold her, maybe even try to coax her into talking, but he won't. He's not good at it, and he's almost sure he doesn't want to hear about it anyways. They all have their bad days._

_A commercial blares from the television, its volume almost twice the level of the movie that's taken a short break for a few words from a sponsor. He wonders if she even hears it._

"_Sometimes, it just seems so hard." Her eyes flicker to his, holding his blue gaze before falling down to the cane beside him._

"_You handle it," is all he can think to say. "I guess I'm going to go."_

_He waits for a response and when it doesn't come, he moves his gray sock covered feet to cover her white socked feet. There's only so much he can do, but sometimes, he doesn't think about it and does what he can._


	36. Forget your fears

**Disclaimer: DOH**

**A/N: I am so so so sorry for forgetting this chapter. I don't know how it got past me.**

* * *

In the absence of fear, what is there? Hope? Freedom? Resolution? Desolation?

She turns her face into the pillow she's washed enough times to drown out the smell of him, but still the memory lingers of his head forcing its way to steal away her spot, though his pillow is just as comfortable.

The muted light from the street post slithers through the curtains she hadn't closed completely as she fell into the bed, casting faded blue rays of desperation on the white comforter spread around her body.

It's not fair, she breathes, closing her eyes and gripping the corner of the pillow tightly. Why does he do this to her? Why does he make it so much harder? And why does she keep falling for it, for him, when she knows she can't afford to be broken again?

It'd taken her months to get used to the fact he wouldn't be a part of her life. She'd been even more sure after he'd found out, that everything which had happened was just too much for both of them. She'd accepted it; she'd had to. But he always did have a way of turning her on her head, doing the exact opposite of what she expected.

Why does he care now? What does he possibly want from her since he made it so clear over five months ago that he was finished?

Cameron releases the pillow, letting her hand fall down to crux of their relationship. She feels the kick of feet and wants to smile, desperately, but the kicking stops as quickly as it began and everything is as it was.

Three weeks and her life will never be the same, at least that's what she hopes for. Fear is all that's kept her going this far, pushing her and holding her back, giving her an excuse for not being too excited.

* * *

-(_Cameron)_

_It's no surprise. She brings the coffee cup to her lips and takes a generous sip as the last duffel bag hits the floor next to the others. If anything, she's surprised he's held out this long like a puppy that still walks up to its master after the two hundredth rock thrown at it. _

_He stands there, hands in his brown leather jacket that makes him look like he's eighteen and trying too hard._

"_You'll call me…if you need me?"_

_Cameron blows on the hot brew, not sure if it's cowardice or blissful resignation that won't let her look at him. _

"_I have your number, Chase."_

_With a slow bow of his head, he shuts his eyes as he counts to five. It should be hard. She's supposed to be finally falling apart and telling him why she doesn't have to children with him, opening herself up and saying how she's felt these last four months, not sitting here as if it's just another Wednesday. _

_Then again, he's supposed to be sitting beside her, patient as always. He's supposed to understand that every time she turns on her back and ignores him as they lie in bed, she just needs time to adjust. It's only been four months. He should wait. His selfishness needs to be put on hold, but he looks at her and sees one more day that adds onto another and suddenly his life is more than half-way over and he's still waiting on her. _

_One more chance, take it, he says to her silently as he walks behind her and puts a hand on her thin shoulder. Muscles tense, her breath waits, and he can't feel her anymore. She's made her decision, and maybe she'll change her mind. He just can't stay here, stuck with her in foolish denial._

"_I'll be ready, Cameron. Just…just tell me."_

_His footsteps pause and the door opens and closes. She sits down her cup and looks ahead, staring blankly at her apartment. It never ends. Disappointment. It follows her, she follows it, and then it's too late and there's nothing left._

* * *

The bourbon scorches his dry throat, tightens his muscles, makes him ache at the familiar taste it brings and the loneliness it makes him forget. There's a momentary pause in noise as the stereo switches to the next track and the slow rhythmic piece begins to meander through the air that's been suffocating him since he walked in.

It's not fair, he breathes, closing his eyes as the vicodin kicks in and his leg's screaming minutely decreases enough for him to think. What is he doing? What does he want? Why can't he leave her alone?

It should be easy to walk away, deny the kid that's his in blood only, to keep living like he has been. She'd let him. She probably even wants him to because of the way he's treated her. Maybe the most respectable thing to do is to walk away for good and let two people escape as unscathed as possible with the third stuck in misery that's far too close to be called home.

But he's selfish. He remembers her love, the same he's mocked her of from the beginning of their acquaintance. She used to love him so fiercely, even when he didn't deserve it, even when he didn't want it. He can still see that look in her eyes when she smiled at him, when he first held the door open for her, when he pinched her rear as she walked by, when she was underneath him and panting near his ear.

Maybe, if she wasn't pregnant, it wouldn't be so hard. There wouldn't be so much hesitation marking each of his actions, so much fear at letting himself feel content with her. The kid complicates matters. He can hurt her and feel guilty, which is survivable. They would get over it, move on with or without each other. If he hurts that child, all he'll feel is shame. And he knows he will.

He comes with no guarantee, no apologies, no remorse. Not father material in the least.

In the absence of fear, what is there? Courage? Happiness? Denial? Abandonment?

His trepidation has led him here, safe and alone. It gives him an excuse for pushing her away. It lets him say he can't deal with a child. It keeps everything the same, spinning and spinning, a constant. It dances with misery to keep him cuckolded, a Calypso to his Odysseus.

It's time to let go. Damn the consequences if just maybe, maybe it doesn't hurt so much anymore.

His eyes lower, the softness of sleep cradling him, and he wonders if he'll still feel this way in the morning.


	37. Jacket for one

Disclaimer: DOH

* * *

His fingers rest on the wood, feeling the slicked down wax covering the fine grain before dropping down to lower the handle. He hasn't searched the two other doctors' lounges to bow out now. It's actually strange that she would pick the one farthest out the way, the one that hardly anyone goes to because the only furniture inside are sofas and chairs with two tables. Well, maybe it's the perfect spot then.

It's quiet. Too quiet. He steps in, casually taking stock of the room before seeing one pale arm hung over the arm of a plush chair with its back to him. His lips twitch in nervousness or anxiety as he slowly walks closer, trying to bide his time and pick his words.

"So, I was thinking that we should….Crap."

With a brief jerk of his shoulders, House closes his eyes in exasperation at his luck. Of course she'd be asleep. Tapping his thumb on his cane, he glances up to make sure no one's about to walk in before looking back down at her.

Her head is deep in the corner, no doubt a foreshadowing of a huge neck crick that will ruin her day with her blonde hair falling down her shoulders. The color still shocks him to this day, but it doesn't mean he doesn't like it. Maybe it was long overdue she go back to her roots, go back to someone she used to be before him.

She shifts slightly, one hand bending to fit under her chin and the other coming to gently brush across the almost loose pink scrub top that covers her pregnant abdomen before falling back down to her side. He realizes he could probably touch her right now and she wouldn't know.

Or she would, and then all hell would break loose.

Right, no touching.

House stands there for a second longer before taking a step away and stopping himself.

"Great. I'm finally ready to try to talk things out and you're asleep," he whispers. "You need to work on your timing, woman."

He thinks he's done this time and again takes another step forward. He stops himself again.

"And you know what? There are plenty of on-call rooms where you can sleep safely."

With a shake of his head he walks forward with no intention of saying anything else, but he turns around again.

"And this is _not_ nice," he mutters as he shakes his left arm out of his jacket. "I hate this jacket. Only wear it so Wilson doesn't feel so bad about his ties."

He drapes the jacket across her form, his frown getting deeper as he positions it so the fabric covers the hand under her chin and the swollen evidence of their relationship. He's almost tempted to touch her face, feeling something like the past year whispering for him to just do it.

He can't do it though.

* * *

She sees him reclining in his corner chair, right leg on the footstool and his left foot tapping the floor softly.

"_You_ are the hardest man to track down."

His eyes open and go straight to his jacket folded over her arm. "I think that's the whole point of hiding."

"Cuddy's looking for you."

"I know. I heard it on the wind, I heard it in the walls, I heard it from the stethoscope. Plus Taub came in and told me."

"And you ran off as soon as you could so that once you got the all clear, you could come back in here and she'd still be on the trail?"

"I'd never do such a mischievous act."

"I'm sure you wouldn't."

"Sit down," he helps his leg off the footstool. "You fall on me and I'll probably die."

"I sit down and I might not be able to get up."

"That's what Foreman's for. Manual labor."

"I'm not going to take that as a racial remark."

"Why? It's not anything new."

"You know what? I didn't come here to talk about Foreman's blackness or your assness. Here."

He catches the fabric in his fingers, wondering fleetingly what she'll do if he grabs her slender digits, but her hand is gone before he can even think of doing the action. It's probably for the best. Then again, he's never done what's best for him.

"I, uh, thanks, House. For the jacket, I mean."

Cameron swallows slightly, her hands suddenly empty and cold and so she places them on her back. It's time to make her getaway.

"Cameron…."

She turns, maybe a little too suddenly, a little too hopefully, and certainly a little afraid. There are so many words he can say, and so many he can't, and she's not ready to deal with them anymore.

"What, House?"

Even though it's not fair, he has to stand and try to keep some of his power behind him. Vulnerability is something he doesn't want and the only way he can think of to keep it away from him, is to keep it close to her. Emptying the space between them, he can sense her need to step away and the stubbornness to not give in.

"What do you want from me?"

It's a simple enough question for a complicated situation. She flinches as if he's shouted at her.

"What do _you_ want?"

"What I want doesn't matter."

It ends then, the pull of her heart and the uneasiness that had threatened to push her into him. Cameron straightens with the corners of her mouth running downwards before she scoffs and shakes her head.

"That was always the problem, House." She cups her cheek. "It never mattered to you. Nothing about _us_ did. I don't know why I've been thinking it might've changed."

"It mattered." He exhales harshly and takes a step back, needing something like real life to make him stop from speaking. "It mattered enough to scare the hell out of me. It mattered enough for me to try and push you to the limits. It mattered enough to get me into a coma because I was too distracted thinking about how I was going to screw up our kid and our lives!"

"How can I believe that? How do you expect me to have sympathy for you after what you did to me?"

"I don't want your sympathy!" The space isn't needed any longer and he finds himself wanting to stand so close to her he can feel her belly touch his. "I'm House. You expect too much of me, Cameron."

"You just expect too little of yourself! I was with you for almost a year. I know how much of a jerk you are, but I also know how much of a human bei –."

"I'm not a good person."

The statement is blunt, almost shy and uncharacteristically scratchy as it leaves his mouth. "I'm not." Shrugging his shoulders, he continues. "That's the truth. It doesn't matter what I want. It _does _matter what you want."

It almost sounds like he's putting her feelings before his. She watches him carefully, not about to step into the trap that doesn't even look like one.

"No," she breathes thoughtfully. "You need to know what it feels like to put yourself out there and not know what's going to happen. What do you want? Do you even know?"

She waits for an answer, looking into his eyes and searching his face for some hint of what's whirring in his mind.

He's lost track of how many times she's looked this way at him, only to turn around in frustration.

"You can't possibly want anything to do with me after what I've done."

"House, in any other situation, you're right. I'd be done. I wouldn't even look back." Cameron bites her lip. "But I'm pregnant and you have every right to stay in your child's life, or leave it. You need to make up your mind because I won't let you do both. Not like you did with me."

Whatever great thing he thought he'd say to her earlier in the day leaves him as she begins to walk away.

"And," she halts, slightly turning, "you may not be a good person. But you're not a bad one either. Clichés work for you."

* * *

A/N: Blech. My so called 'hump' chapter since I couldn't quite get this right, but I needed it to kind of lead us into the ending segments of the fic coming up. Thanks!


	38. Calm down, please?

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

House taps his fingers against his lips, partly to bide the time and partly because the little kid on the examining table across the ER is doing the same. It'd seemed like a fun thing to do five minutes ago, but now it's irritating even him and what's worse is he can't stop. Turning his attention away from the kid, he focuses on Cameron beside him, elbow deep in charts.

She's been ignoring him since he walked in twenty minutes ago with nothing to say or do but whine. Her silence doesn't surprise him, but what does is that her handwriting is quick and furious with slashes that are forceful and dots that are stabs. Something's wrong and for once, it didn't start with him.

"Quit staring."

"I'm not."

Cameron grinds her teeth together as she signs another chart, trying to tell herself to breathe and not get too excited. He's a big kid and she should be used to his annoying actions.

"I'm serious, House."

"I'm not doing anything!"

"Whatever," she mumbles, closing one chart and opening another with harsh fingers and a loud sigh. "Would you at least leave?"

"But I'm not doing anything."

"Exactly! Why are you here? Go annoy someone else."

"Why don't _you_ go somewhere else?"

"Because this is _my_ ER." Cameron flips a page over the top without looking at him. "This is where I work. This is _not_ where you work."

"I _could_ work here, though. If I wanted to never think again, at least."

"Well, you don't. So get out."

He watches her mouth clench, her neck showing its taut tension and her mouth thinning into one single hard line. Something's sent her close to the edge. He should check himself and stop, but his curiosity is piqued and that's a dangerous thing.

"I didn't do anything wrong. You get out."

"You've been staring at me like some of kind of idiot for the past couple of minutes. We're short an attending and seven nurses. I don't have the time or the energy to deal with your pestering."

"That sounds like a personal problem."

She slams the pen down with a hard slap that makes her fingers sting with the force. Without saying anything, she rises out of her chair with a groan and reaches for his upper arm.

"That's it, House."

He barely manages to grab his cane before he's jerked to a stand, nearly tripping over his chair.

"What are you doing?!"

"I told you to leave." They start moving, Cameron continuing her lecture. "Since you won't, I'm kicking you out!"

His legs stumble over each other twice, each time nearly bringing them both the floor, but she holds them both up as she disregards the stares and open mouths coming from the personnel.

"Slow down, Cameron!"

All she can do is grip tighter and make her wide steps more hurried as they make it to the hallway and she finally lets go.

"Don't come back down here again, House."

"You can't order me!"  
Taking a step back, he tries to tell himself he's not afraid of a foot shorter pregnant woman with her finger pointed to his chest. Her eyes are dark and fiery, face turning pink from anger and composure in front of colleagues.

"Don't you talk to me like that!" She leans into him, her heated breath nearly grazing his neck. "Say something smart. I dare you."

Pulling back slightly, she waits for him to take the bait. One hand grips the lapel on his jacket, just begging him to say something so that she can let her fury loose. She can nearly taste the want on her tongue. There's no way he won't give in.

It's strange that he can hear it in her voice, a string drawn just right that without a stroke the note can still be heard. How on Earth he knows to keep his trap shut is beyond him, but all he can do is look at her as she loses herself.

"Say something," Cameron whispers again. "Say it! You know you want to!"

He's pushed back by her, his cane nearly falling from his grasp as he tries to steady himself. He's gotten more than he bargained for, more than he knows how to deal with.

"Come on, House!"

Another shove and she knows she should stop. It's not his fault she's on the wire, but he hasn't helped, so maybe it's justified. The shock written on his face makes her want to grimace and apologize except there's no stopping her now. There's too much on the line and she can't face it. She doesn't want to.

So she slaps his shoulder with her palm this time. Then she does it again, fully intending to walk away but finding herself shoving him with both hands in sporadic breaks.

"Cameron. Cameron!"

"Just say something to me!"

House brings a hand to the wall, hoping to keep his balance while keeping himself calm.

"Cameron, what are you doing!?"

"Nothing!" This time a hard shove meets him and he loses his cane and she's almost satisfied.

"Calm down and q-quit hitting me."

She stills, one hand in mid air, ready to strike. "I _am_ calm!"

He'd never pictured Cameron as one of those girls to slap him like a machine gun in the cheesy romance movies of old. But then again, he'd never pictured her having his kid. Feeling the hard wall of the hallway meet his back, House catches one wrist that flails at him before capturing the other as it pounds him against the wall.

She struggles. He struggles back.

"Calm down, Cameron." He glances down to her stomach pressing into his. "Calm down. Breathe. _Breathe._"

'I _am_ breathing!" she hisses with a jerk of her body, hoping to gain leverage but finding none.

"What the hell are you two doing!?"

They both halt, looking at each other before simultaneously turning their heads to the woman running towards them and feeling their mouths drop slightly.

"Let her go, House!"

He does, releasing her wrists and backing himself up farther against the wall so that he's not so close to her body that's nearly seared through his clothes. She seems to follow his actions, moving her wrists behind her back and stepping away from him to speak to Cuddy.

"Cuddy, we –."

"This is a _hospital_, Dr. Cameron. Not Jerry Springer."

"My mistake," House interjects, stepping forward unevenly without the aid of his cane. "I thought –."

"No," Cameron moves to stand beside him. "I started it."

Cuddy stares at them before bringing a hand to her forehead, slowly massaging the newfound headache beating against her skull.

"Bonnie, stay here. Clyde, my office. Now!"

Any other time and he'd argue or have some sharp retort. This time, he turns around to pick his cane up from the floor, disregarding Cameron's stare as she watches him with something like embarrassment peeking behind her expression.

He limps away down the corridor, hearing the vague sound Cuddy's questions and Cameron's stilted answers before he rounds the corner, all the while wondering what's broken her silken string.

* * *

House shuts the refrigerator door, raising an eyebrow as the knocking quits and the television becomes the only source of sound. He grabs his cane and the glass of milk before making his way to the door, knowing who it is simply because he knows it'll be the one person he doesn't want to see.

By the time he makes it to the door, the knocking's stopped and he wonders if she's still there. He opens it quickly, startling her as she turns around to him with a frown.

Two cool beads of condensation drip down the glass to meet his palm, wetting his skin as they fall to trail down his hand, waiting for him to move and her to do so as well. They're close to his elbow before she speaks.


	39. Say something

**Disclaimer: DOH**

**A/N: Ah, to ocein. As of...Chapter36 I believe, Cameron's 3 weeks from...bursting (lol), so now she'd be about 2 weeks away. Help? I hope so. :)**

**Edit: I forgot to add the real chapter 36, which is 'Forget your fears,' not 'Jacket for one.' But now it's up. My apologies. **

* * *

"I thought," Cameron looks down at her fingers fidgeting with each other before finding the courage to face him again. "I thought I should apologize for earlier. I don't know why I just snapped."

House stares at her before glancing over her shoulder and bringing the milk to his lips for a long draught.

"Pleading for forgiveness usually involves getting down on your knees, bringing a few sacrifices, maybe even some gold."

"Sorry," she deadpans, "I forgot my two lambs and treasure chest at the hut."

"I'll settle for the getting down on your knees."

She raises an eyebrow. "I'll settle for sacrificing a hundred lambs and stealing the Queen's jewels."

"You're really not up on this absolution thing are you?"

"Look, before you try to get me to kill your neighbor's cat in the name of redemption, I really did want to say I'm sorry. Bye."

Without thinking, he steps into the short hallway, surprised by his next words just as much as she is.

"You hungry?"

* * *

"That was delicious."

"That was _heaven_,"House corrects as he hoists his right leg onto the coffee table beside his empty plate.

"Where'd you buy it?"

"Why would you assume that I didn't somehow find some new talent after my coma?"

"Because I've tasted what you've cooked," Cameron hands her plate to him and he just raises an eyebrow at her before snatching it away and placing it on top of his, "and none of it involved what we just ate. So, who made it?"

"Wilson. The best part of trying to mend our unstable friendship is that he gives me his food at work and brings me food for home."

"I'll have to tell him to stop."

"You do that, and I'll have to kill you. Slowly, painfully, tortuously."

"I'd kill you first."

"Pfft."

"You don't think I could?"

"I'm twice your size and I hate to admit it, but twice as smart. I know. It's okay though. At least you're twice as hot as me."

"The thing is, because I'm smaller I maneuver better. And I may not be as smart as you, but I'm so much nicer than you are so no one would ever expect me. And yeah, you're right. I am pretty stunning."

"Should I be worried it sounds like this isn't the first time you've thought about this?"

"Not at all," she replies with a smile as she nestles into the crook of the sofa. Her eyes close, hands intertwining over her extended abdomen, feet comfortably shifting on the floor as a commercial intrudes on the show they're barely watching.

House glances at her from the corner of his eye, wondering what she'd do if he sat on the cushion next to her. Then he wonders why he'd even think it to begin with. Resting his head back, he shuts his eyes. It's a moment he doesn't realize is beyond boring in his old definition. It's…domestic, homey, comfortable.

"House?"

"Mhhm?"

"I really am sorry about earlier." When he doesn't say anything, she frowns and bites her lip gently. "I just….It was a Murphy's Law kind of morning."

"Cameron, it's nothing. Some people would even say I deserved it."

"True," she tilts her head slightly to the left, inhaling the scent of their eaten dinner. "But I shouldn't have done it just because I was…losing my mind."

"You're about two weeks away from giving birth. You shouldn't be working anyways."

"Says who? I can still move, walk, read. I'm not some kind of leper who needs to be shut in an apartment."

"You're the senior attending of an ER. It's too much stress."

"I need the work."

"Yeah, because you _love_ being short staffed and losing your mind."

Sometime after he doesn't hear a retort, he opens his eyes, turning his head to look at her with a frown on his face. She's focused on their plates, her eyes clear and almost dark, her mouth solid and nearly pursed. When she changes her focus to him, he blinks at the sudden motion, the radical shift in her piercing stare.

"I don't know if I…if I can do this, House."

She hardly expects an answer, and honestly, she counts on it. Anything he says will be glib, monotonous and superficial, because he doesn't know the half of it. But she needs to say this out loud, to hear her voice carry the fear she hasn't let herself think of, to connect with him briefly.

"I had this boy, eighteen months," Cameron folds her arms over her chest slowly as she finds her courage.

"They brought him off the ambulance trying to revive him and I took over since Jerry was with another girl. We all knew he was dead. He'd been dead before he was rolled in but we couldn't," her throat thickens so much she has to stop, lowering her head as she clears it and finding herself suddenly not wanting to look at him.

"We couldn't stop. And we couldn't save him."

"What was wrong with him?"

Somehow, it's comforting and grating at once, that he would ask the 'what?'

"The mother gave him a pill bottle full of iron to play with since he liked the sound. The father came home a few hours later and checked up on the boy since he'd been in his crib. That's when he called 911."

"You…you're a doctor. You know these things happen."

"I know. I _know._" She looks at him again with the edges of her lips turning downward. "I just…I _can't_…."

Telling himself not to push, he watches her, the tips of his fingers beginning to tingle with restlessness and slight fear. She needs him to listen, and it's taken him long enough to finally understand.

"House, you don't – there's something –."

Cameron shakes her head, bringing her hands to her cheeks to cool them, to distract herself maybe. It's a long few moments before she turns to him again, letting her arms fall to her sides and not minding that she's on the steep edge of losing her fragmented composure in front of someone she knows won't be able to handle it. This has always been about her fears though, not his.

When she speaks, her voice is so low and she has to force herself to put more strength behind her words as she locks onto his blue eyes.

"You don't understand what it's like. I, I don't know if I can do this because I can't lose Brennan. I can't lose an…" With a breath she covers her mouth with a shaky left hand and closes her eyes for a few seconds.

"I wake up everyday expecting the worst because that's my luck. Because I just _know_ it won't happen, House. I just know it'll be the day I miscarry. And I don't think I can handle that a…. Not after everything."

When she cries softly, barely allowing the tears to more than trickle down her cheeks, he looks away, lowering his chin as he stares at the coffee table before somehow finding himself turning back towards her with his brow deeply furrowed. She doesn't look at him, doesn't ask for anything, doesn't speak.

If he let himself, he would say it's about time she say it out loud. It's about time she face that all signs point to 'go' this time around. She doesn't need to hear it however, and even if she did, he doubts she'd believe it. Which is why, after she brings the cuff of her blouse to wipe her eyes, he shifts closer to her and his left hand reaches out for her right one, brushing against her thigh before clasping onto her swollen fingers.

They're cool, more tired looking than he remembers, more hopeless than they used to feel against his. His palm glides over the top of her hand before he lets it move backwards, permitting his fingertips to circle her knuckles slowly and then moving upwards so that his fingers are on top of hers perfectly and symmetrically, small and large, broken and broken.

Without looking at her and without giving away that he knows her shared secret with Chase, he breaks the silence.

"It explains the crib you haven't fixed. The apartment you haven't moved out of. The sonograms that don't show the sex. The lack of the constant touching and smiling at your stomach. The job you bury yourself in."

House furrows his brow even deeper as his hand shifts to the left and his fingers spread between hers so that they try to fit each other. Carefully, he begins to curl them inward, marveling at how comfortable the action is, how simple it is. His fingers slide downward lazily and stop at the webbings between her fingers, almost waiting for her to pull away, to gain some sense. When she doesn't, he curls his fingers inwards until he can feel the skin of her palm.

"House?"

The catch is audible, but he stays focused on their hands, their misplaced, never will work out, damaged hands. And then she surprises him. The tips of her fingers curl under his, shyly and cautiously, waiting for the psyche no doubt.

"I should go."

She doesn't move, nearly mesmerized by the sight of their hands, by the profile of his intense face.

"Thank you."

The words cause him to finally look at her, noticing her face has lost the complete sadness from moments ago. He doesn't even realize her fingers are loosening themselves from his grasp until he feels them brushing across his wrist.

"Cameron…."

She waits, and then she smiles sadly. "What, House?"

If only he knew. She must read it in his expression because she sighs, giving him one last long look before heaving herself up from the sofa.

By the time she's gone with a few mundane words of seeing him tomorrow escaping her lips, he's standing and leaning over the table for their plates, thinking about what he wants, what he needs, and whether she should have to deal with any of it all over again.


	40. Catch a lie?

"You're late."

"And I'm still earlier than Cuddy. Where is she?"

"I don't know," Cameron sighs from the chair in front of Cuddy's desk, following his limping movements. "Get out of her chair, House."

"What?" He places his cane gently on the desk, disregarding her shaking head before leaning back with a sigh and throwing his hands behind his head. "She's not using it. Besides, the chair needs a break from her gigantic ass."

"What about your gigantic ass?"

"What about yours?"

"Have you been staring at my ass?"

"It's kind of hard to miss."

Cameron points a finger at him. "House, no more ogling my ass, or my chest for that matter."

"Like I said, they're hard to miss," he emphasizes by staring at her breasts barely hidden behind the low cut blue blouse. "Besides, you didn't used to mind."

"That was a completely different situation and you know it."

"You're not stopping me now."

"I –."

"Good, you two are here! House, get your ass out of my chair!"

"Can't. Cameron won't let me look at her boobs."

Cuddy falters for a second before regaining her stride and standing in front of his sitting form.

"I don't even want to know why that matters. Get up."

"No, Camer –."

"I really don't care, House. And did you just say 'No' to me?"

"No."

"Unless you want to take over Cameron's clinic hours until your kid is three, go sit in the other chair."

Rolling his eyes, he stands abruptly, nearly colliding into her body with a smirk as he reaches for his cane. He shrugs his shoulders when he notices Cameron's stare and sits with a huff, slumping down in his chair with a frown.

"Well," Cuddy sits, folding her hands on her desk as her gaze shifts from House to Cameron. "Now that I have you two together, what's going on?"

Cameron shifts slightly, bringing one hand up to the arm rest. "What do you mean?"

"This is my hospital. I can't have you two trying to take the other down with patients twenty feet away and gossiping doctors and nurses just around the corner."

"It's not a problem, Cuddy. It won't happen again."

Cuddy smiles at Cameron before turning slightly to look at House directly. "What about you?"

"What about me? I'm the one who was attacked."

She waits for more, receiving only a mimicking stare and so she leans back in her chair which allows her to have both doctors in her line of immediate sight.

"He broke your heart. She's having your child. I don't know what went on between you two before the coma, and I don't want to know, but it's affecting the workplace and I…can't have that."

"It's not affecting anything," House states with a look to Cameron.

"It was just a bad day," Cameron insists as she leans forward, suddenly remembering two years ago when something about marriage or firing had been the only choices of a relationship gone wrong.

Cuddy shakes her head.

"Cuddy, it's hormones and," she takes a breath, fighting the urge to see if House is looking at her. "And it was stupid."

"I know," the Dean agrees with a simple nod of the head. "But it never should have happened and since neither of you can tell me what exactly is going on with you two, then there's not much I can do."

"There's nothing going on!"

House watches Cameron stand wobbly, unknowingly straightening himself up in his chair and placing his cane beside him in case he should have to jump as well.

"We're just trying to be civil to each other. We don't want anything from each other anymore."

"I can't believe that, Cameron."

Cameron shuts her mouth and turns to House, her eyes pleading with him to agree. She can feel her heart begin to race, the sweat begin form on her palms, and even her head begin to pound because of the blood rushing to her brain.

"House, tell her!"

It's silent, all three of them waiting for his answer and each one expecting an answer that will give all a reprieve. Except he doesn't say the answer he should, partly because it'd be too easy for the two women, and partly because he's had enough.

"I don't know."

Cameron flinches, losing her stability and finding herself searching for the chair so she can sit. She can already see the words on Cuddy's mind, the ones that say while she's a good doctor, House is better.

"Cameron? You okay?"

"I just," she inhales deeply. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You sure?"

Nodding, Cameron forces a smile, a sudden crack beneath a veneer of solidness and strength.

Running a hand over her dark hair, Cuddy sighs softly.

"Okay, then this is what's going to happen. House, you're going to be pulling clinic eight to five every other day."

"What if I have a patient?"

"It's Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and I know you don't spend every minute of the day by the patient's side. So, you'll live and be happy. Foreman will pick you up to make sure you're on time."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Either that or I can put you in the ER those days."

"I am not going to put up with him down there."

House replies to Cameron without looking at her. "Boss's orders. You think I can bedazzle one of those beds with my name, Cameron?"

Cuddy holds up a hand, locking onto Cameron's eyes. "You won't be there."

House's eyes narrow, his back stiffening under his blazer. "What're you doing, Cuddy?"

"Cameron, I should've forced you to take your maternity leave two months ago. You're not even two weeks away from giving birth and you shouldn't be slaving here. As of now," Cuddy pulls forward a manila file and slides it across her desk in front of Cameron, "you're on maternity leave."

Cameron leans forward, her fingers brushing the folder as a breath escapes her. She looks back up to Cuddy, unsure if she'll end up crying or laughing at this point.

"She can work with me."

The two women both look at House who in turn looks at the computer on the desk.

"I've got emails, letters, charts, color by color pages, that need to be looked at."

When they still don't say anything he finally glances up to Cuddy. "What? It's not like Cameron did anything important anyways. All she did was care so much her eyes glowed."

"You _want_ Cameron to work with you?"

"I _want_ five million Baby Ruth's sent to your office with a note that reads, 'Look familiar?'"

Cuddy opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Cameron beats her to it.

"No."

Now, House and Cuddy look at her, and she nods her head slowly once.

"I'll take my leave."

"What?" House asks as he searches Cameron's face.

She ignores him, instead standing and reaching for the file. "I'll sign these and give them back to you after I grab my things."

House doesn't watch her leave and Cuddy ends up watching House not watching her leave.

"What are you doing, House?"

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You like her. You always have. I think you even loved her, which means you still do. And as much as it still surprises me to this day, she's having _your_ baby. And you're just letting her leave?"

"She doesn't want me."

"When did that ever stop you?"

With a slight tilt of his head, House grabs his cane and stands. "No one knows about this," he motions the cane between them, "almost friendly conversation."

"Not even _I _want to know about this."

* * *

"Figured you'd have taken my offer."

Cameron glances up at him before shutting her locker with a soft click. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me."

"Do you even know," he takes a step forward, "how ridiculous that sounds?"

"You're not as callous as you think you are," she replies as she takes off her lab coat.

"Seriously, why didn't you take it?"

"Why'd you say 'I don't know?'"

Taking another step forward, he decides this is as close as he needs to be and leans against the lockers.

"I don't know."

She clicks her bag closed before hoisting it over her shoulder.

"It _is_ over, House. I don't love you anymore."

"I don't believe it."

"Why? Because I'm pregnant? Because I'm hormonal? Because I was infatuated with you years ago?"

"No, because you came to see me when I came out of the coma. You shouldn't have, but you did."

"I felt sorry for you."

"You love me."

"I don't."

"I can always tell when you're lying."

"Would you stop doing this?!" She covers her face with her hands and takes a deep breath before lowering them. "You're my friend, and then you hate me, and then you almost hate me, and then you don't, and then you want to be friends again, and now what are you trying to do?"

"Something!"

"I don't," she pauses, trying to find the right words. "I don't have time for this, House, for your games."

"Tomorrow, dinner at my place."

"What?"

"I'll order in. We can watch a few movies."

"What?"

House rubs the back of his neck. "Some people call it a date. Considering I've gotten you pregnant we might need to go out on one of those to get to know each other again."

Cameron feels her mouth open, shut, and then open again.

"No."


	41. You smell good

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

The air continues to walk between them, cool and smelling of something antiseptic and too familiar to their senses. He hadn't thought far enough ahead to consider what he'd say if she said no.

Cameron exhales softly, her mouth more tired than frustrated.

"What'd you think I would say? What's changed?"

When he keeps staring at her, she walks to him, her footsteps hard and solid against the floor until there's silence once more and she can almost feel the warmth of his body under his clothes. It's not so difficult anymore.

"I don't need you, House."

It's said in that low tone of her voice she uses to try to make him pay more attention to the words. He looks down, locking onto her gaze and after a few moments, realizes their breaths are going in and out in synch.

"You're lying," he mutters, eyes focused on her lips.

"You," she wets her lips, "don't deserve me."

She almost thinks she can hear the wood crack of his cane, but all she can see is his face slacking before hardening into those infamous features of icy blue eyes and glass cutting cheeks.

"You treated me like someone special, and then you ignored me before doing something stupid like buying me socks to make me forgive you. A few days, a few weeks, and you'd pick a fight so that I'd leave you, but I wouldn't leave you and then you show up with some DVD you got on the internet about mating rituals in the animal kingdom.

"You always screw up, House. And I always forgive you. You're never there for me, and you never need me."

Shrugging slightly, Cameron raises her hands to let them brush the edges of his blazer until they catch the lapels, not tugging, not pushing or pulling, but merely resting against the rough fabric. She can feel the intensity boring into her, but she can't look at him now, not when this is something she never wanted to say.

"You asked me what I wanted from you. It's not dinner and it's not a few movies. It won't fix anything this time because I'm tired of taking you back. I can't keep looking behind me to see if you're going to jerk my ankle so I fall. We can't do this to each other and take care of our child at the same time."

House can feel her pull away, feel her fingers drop away to her bag, feel her stomach brush against his as she turns, feel her bag as it passes his hip, and feel the itch of her hand as it swings at her side, empty because he can't step forward.

He pulls out his vial of Vicodin and swallows two without realizing it, the action second nature in the haziness of the effect her words have left behind.

* * *

_She rubs her arms as she walks inside his silent apartment, wondering why he hasn't turned the heat up and why the television's not on to some stupid cartoon show. Discarding her thin jacket quickly, she puts on the sweatshirt he hates to wear that's been left hanging on his sofa. _

"_House?"_

_Her footsteps suddenly seem louder as she makes her way down the hallway and notices the door to his bedroom is halfway shut. With a cloth covered hand, she pushes it open with comfort and slight hesitation and it swings open with barely a whisper of discontent as it shows its occupant sitting on the edge of the bed facing her._

_He looks up, his elbows resting on his thighs, or rather, his left elbow on his thigh and his right elbow near his knee. She almost speaks. Her mouth opens and her brain forms the words, but she stops herself from ruining what's about to come. Instead, Cameron treads softly towards him, watching him watch her with something like a warning beacon behind his eyes. But that's always been there, and she's never listened to it anyways._

_The smell of her reaches him before her skin does, and he fights the urge to close his eyes so the sensation is heightened and is great enough to make him forget the reason he's sitting here like this in the near dark. Leaning back and looking up, he allows her to move between his legs, watching the way she tries to carefully make herself comfortable, tries to not ask questions. _

_He can see it in the tightness of her forehead, even though her bangs are trying to shadow the area. He can feel it in the way her arms are forcefully slack on either side of her waist, the extra fabric of his sleeves covering her deft hands. House finds himself unable to resist the calm reserve she's offering. His hands shift from his legs to the sides of her knees, the denim coarse under his barely there fingers, and her muscles tightening in defense and fear. _

_There aren't many times he can say he's touched her like this, so openly, so studyingly, so focused as if she'll disappear. He moves up, his hands encircling as much as they can of her distal thighs and rubbing his thumb across what he hopes is warming skin before slowly moving upwards until he can feel the back of her buttocks against his index fingers. Slowly, he moves his hands medially until his thumbs are at the junction between her thighs and he can feel a slightly shaky breath expel from her lips as he pulls her closer to him. _

_The bottom of the sweater covers most of his hands, and in the fear of the moment, he pulls away. She still doesn't say anything as she looks at him, and he's surprised. He hasn't given her enough credit. _

_Cameron can feel him making up his mind, can see the wheels turning and the possible outcomes being sorted and weighed. It's best to just let it pass._

_His hands are in the same place again, hiding beneath the too large end of his sweatshirt. But he doesn't need to see to know where her button is, and so he undoes it, his fingers cool against skin that twitches at the sensation. The zipper fascinates him then, the simple mechanism surely the last barrier in his way. He toys with the metallic piece, flicking it up and down with his thumbs while the tips of his other fingers rest between her bare skin and dark fabric. _

_Stopping his playing, his hands lose their connection with her skin as he grabs the hem of the bothersome sweater and folds it up so that he can see the short blouse underneath failing to connect with her jeans. Returning to the zipper, he slowly unzips it as far as he can, eyeing the white fabric of her underwear with something close to curiosity. _

_Becoming warmer, his fingers trace the edges of her jeans until he's at her waist, meeting the area where he can feel her left anterior superior iliac spine. His left hand pulls down the top of her jeans while his index and middle finger walk over the protruding bone margin just like when he'd first started medical school and been forced to palpate his classmates. At her iliac crest, he cups his hand so that his fingernails are flat against her skin and he runs them softly over the area back and forth._

_Watching the top of his head, she wonders what's going on. She's afraid for him, of him, with him. Finally participating, Cameron raises her hands away from her waist, causing him to pause in his ministrations as she places hands still covered in sleeves on his head. _

_The stiffening she expects, his muscles not sure whether to accept or reject, and so she doesn't stop. Stepping closer to him, she brings her right hand out of the sleeve to allow her fingers to explore his scalp. He usually doesn't like her to explore this much since he's not comfortable enough with her younger age and his thinning hair. It's never mattered to her._

_Eyes shutting, he brings his face to her stomach and exhales against her bellybutton. One time. He can give in one time, can't he? He moves his left hand to her right hip and can't stop himself from digging into her flesh. In the back of his mind he counts the seconds until she's had enough and pulls his fingers away._

_It hurts. She flinches against the pain on each of her hips, but instead of moving away, tightens her hold on him against her abdomen. _

_His father isn't a bad man, even though every time he comes to visit House, this is what happens. The son becomes even more bitter, unsure of himself, more reckless and outspoken. He's drained, trying to prove something to a man who doesn't have the skill to understand his life. But he has her now, and whether that's good or bad, she doesn't know._

"_You smell good," he mutters._

_She fingers the hair behind his ear, unsure of what to say, of what he needs to hear._

"_Vicodin flavored lotion is the rage."_

_The air of his scoff tickles her stomach._


	42. Questions at night

**A/N: Good grief. Over 2,000 words.**

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

"_Can you see me?!"_

"_No!"_

"_Are you lying?!"_

"_Yes!"_

"_House!"_

"_What?! You put this damn pillow over my head! I'm surprised you even know what I'm s–."_

_The said pillow is suddenly snatched from his face, causing him to blink in the glare of the lights of the apartment. His reclining body splayed on the sofa relaxes as he focuses on her face staring down at him with a smile._

"_I didn't forget."_

_He sighs as she falls to her knees and leans her elbows on the open area of the cushion beside his head._

"_Happy birthday, House."_

_He pulls the pillow from her hand and throws it back onto his face. "Oh, God."_

_Cameron frowns as she tugs the pillow away too quickly for him to snatch it from her grasp._

"_Cameron, I told you –."_

"_I think," she interrupts with a finger to his lips, "you might tolerate your present." _

_When he raises his eyebrows, she reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and pulls out an envelope._

"_Two one-way tickets to L.A. Sun, celebrities, half-naked women, plus there's a chance we can meet the actors on Bones'."_

_House stares at the simple envelope in her hands as she leans forward and he nearly inhales the excitement surging through her pores. Sometimes, he can't imagine himself tearing her down. _

"_Tricky, Cameron. That's not a present for me. That Bones' thing is for you."_

_She shrugs her shoulders. "It's my reward for having to suffer through being with you for five days. Come on."_

"_My department's going to fall apart."_

"_You know Foreman can handle it."_

"_Cuddy's head's going to explode."_

"_It'll be as much a vacation to her as it will to us."_

"_Wilson's going to get jealous of our love affair."_

"_He knows he's your number one anyways. So, what do you say?"_

_Just two inches away from her face, House finds his fingers brushing over her chin. He immediately stops to grab the envelope._

"_Angelina's in town, right?"_

* * *

It's funny what he remembers. Most of his memories make no sense. They're pieces of snapshots that don't flow together very well, pieces of a life he still can't fathom.

He drops the worn envelope onto the island in the kitchen, listening to it thud with a weight greater than necessary. One ticket drifts outward in the handling, showing a crumpled corner.

* * *

"Do you ever think about calling before coming over?"

"Did I ever before?"

Cameron steps away from the doorway with a sigh, allowing him enough room to step through.

"Be careful. I've got everything on the floor."

Closing the door behind him, House eyes the boxes and books and newspapers littering the floor.

"Early potty training?"

Bracing herself to sit on her chair, she motions with her head to the papers on the kitchen counter.

"I signed the lease yesterday."

"Ah," he glances at the first page before turning around to face her. "Right after Cuddy kicked you out."

"I didn't get kicked out."

"That's what I told everyone though."

She flattens a piece of newspaper over her lap and reaches for a photo frame beside her.

"I'm glad you and Wilson have patched things up."

Mentally starting, he physically begins to limp towards her and sits on the hard chair opposite her, trying to ignore the statement. She hands him a stack of newspapers and kicks her foot towards the cups in a box beside his chair.

"If you're not going to answer me, then help me."

"Oh yeah, we're bros before hos. I mean, bros before pregnant unwed women."

All she can think to do is look at him, resist the urge to roll her eyes, and go back to her work. He follows her lead, finishing wrapping one cup and starting another. She smiles, noticing the furrow in his brow and the way his lips move silently as he tries to curve the paper over the rim of the cup and ends up tearing the paper at the bottom of it.

"World renowned diagnostician having problems wrapping a cup?"

"This is what I –."

"Cameron! My hands are full! Open the door!"

He won't lie. He sees her face brighten and her lips smile wide as she rushes to hoist herself up. He's jealous.

"Wilson, I thought you weren't coming back!"

"And face the wrath of a hungry pregnant woman tomorrow? I'd," his grip loosens on the two bags of food in his hands, "House, hi."

Standing, House raises his eyebrows and holds up the barely wrapped cup.

"Ah," Wilson smiles, "she got you roped in too?"

The two men both look at Cameron who's already picking through one of the bag's in Wilson's hand.

"You know you guys wanted to help me anyways. Did you get my cheeseburger?"

"I'll just," House motions behind them towards the door, "get away before I look like meat."

"No, you don't have to. I was just going to um, drop this food off."

"Would you two quit acting like babies and just eat," Cameron mutters, moving past House, but not before placing her hand on his forearm. "I'd like it if you stayed."

He stares down at her, and then onto the floor after she lets him go. There are so many reasons why he should go, and they all make sense. Maybe that's why he decides to stay.

* * *

"I don't think I can move."

"You ate the whole bag. I'm not surprised."

She throws a balled up napkin in his direction as she leans back in her plush chair in the corner. With a full stomach, looking at him, she almost believes she's happy. She can almost taste the 'before.'

"What are you thinking?"

Cameron blinks at the question.

"About what?"

Shrugging, House forces his legs upon her small coffee table.

"About anything."

"You really want to know?"

He focuses on her, wondering why the bewilderment showing in her features bothers him.

"When are you moving out?"

She finds herself comfortable again, the second question more like him than the first. "Saturday. It's just a floor down."

"Then why the hassle with all these damn newspapers?"

"Things always break, no matter how close your destination."

"You get that from a fortune cookie?"

Smiling, she brings a hand to her belly. "As a matter of fact, I did."

He can't help it. The smugness in her voice triggers something, and he laughs. Not for long, and not loudly, but he does. And when he's done, her expression is soft with bright eyes and relaxed muscles around her mouth. She still loves him as much as the day he went into the coma.

"Why didn't we go?"

He's getting ahead of himself and he knows it, but he can't stop his mind. Things are falling so fast around him, and he's just trying to find the spot that will hold him. Before she can voice her confusion, he pulls the folded envelope from his jacket pocket and begins to extract the two tickets within.

There are some things even she's forgotten about. Cameron pulls herself forward as he tosses the two tickets beyond his shoes and close to her outstretched fingers on the table.

"Where'd you find these?" she asks softly as the weak ticket flops on itself.

"Under the kitchen sink."

Even the lettering has faded in spots where water tried to erase what had been written. She places them back on the table, the back of her fingers brushing across the hard sole of his shoes.

"I don't think we ever thought we'd really go anyways." She takes a deep breath and looks up at him. "I told Cuddy I'd need vacation time and you told her your parents were getting their vows renewed. Then we were going to be short three nurses for a few days and you had a new case and didn't think your fellows were ready for it. But uh, we made it to the airport.

And of course, there was a delay. Two hours turned into three, and then we were actually going to have to switch planes since fires started springing up so we'd need an alternate route. We finally just left and went back to your place."

"Oh," is all he can say.

Cameron tilts her head. "What?"

"Nothing," he replies, maneuvering his feet off the table.

"You thought it was you?" She's surprised, mostly for the fact that she thinks she could almost see the guilt bothering him. "You thought we didn't go because of you?"

"Wouldn't surprise me."

It's the truth, and she knows it. She just wonders why he doesn't give himself enough credit, and why she gives him too much.

"You know what?" She rubs her brow. "I'm really tired. Is it okay if we call it a night?"

House nods his head as he stands with the help of his cane, ready for the escape she welcomes. He offers a hand to her without realizing it, and she accepts with hesitation coursing through her fragile veins.

"Thank you."

"I'll stay here till you're ready. Gonna make sure you don't go into labor the second I walk out."

"I'm not due for another eight days."

"I'm pretty my kid's never heard of a schedule."

* * *

"I'm fine, House."

Sitting on her bed, she pulls her hair over her shoulder and begins to braid it.

"Now I'm just here to get you to sleep with me."

Cameron chuckles as she ties her hair.

"Right, because pregnant women are so hot."

"Who knows? It could be my fetish."

For some reason, it's comfortable. She almost forgets they're not together as he stands in front of her dresser, poking through the cluttered odds and ends. Her eyelids becoming heavier, she yawns to try to signal to him that he needs to leave. When it doesn't work, she lies down and pulls the light cover over her body.

"I'm going to sleep, House."

He turns around and stands in the same spot for a few seconds before turning off the light switch with his cane and leaving them bathed in the yellow faint light of the lamp beside her bed.

She can hear him coming towards her, and only when he's directly by her bed can she see the outline of his form beginning to lower.

"House…."

Whether it's a warning or a question, he doesn't care. He braces his hands on either side of her head, and because she's lying on her side facing him, she has to shift her head to see him clearly. There's not much between them, just an arms length.

"Cameron," he breathes with a frown. "I remember…what I remember…was I ever good to you?"

She'd never expected him to ask that. Honestly, she never thought he'd care enough.

"Why are you asking me?"

His left hand finds its way onto her cheek, and his thumb can't help but rub the soft skin back and forth.

"I need to know."

"It doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

"It does."

"Why?"

"Because I'm me. And I don't let things go."

"You don't really have a choice, House."

"Then what's the harm in telling me?"

His intimate touch is more than familiar, it's calming and warm. He doesn't even know what he's missed, and it breaks her heart to know she's had to carry this alone. He should know. He should remember what he's lost.

"Not always. But you, you had your moments. Sometimes, I think I'll never laugh like that again. And sometimes I'm glad I'll never cry like that again. You weren't the best boyfriend, but I loved you. And that was enough for me."

She covers his hand with hers and momentarily lets their hands stay with each other, but she's past this point. She's made up her mind, and she's tired of waiting for him to catch up to her. Cameron pulls his hand away from her face and closer to his body before letting go.

"Goodnight, House," she whispers.

* * *

"_They've added another hour to our wait."_

_Cameron groans as House sits beside her in the airport._

"_I'm tired, House."_

"_You're the one who thought this was a good idea."_

"_That was before the fires."_

_She leans her head against his shoulder._

"_Do not go to sleep on me, Cameron."_

"_I can't stay awake."_

_House begins to stand. "I'll get you some coffee."_

"_No! House!" She sighs as he pretends not to hear her. _

_Taking a sip from the cup, he doesn't realize she's asleep until he's standing in front of her. _

"_Good thing my Ipod wasn't on you," he mutters as he sits down. "Cameron? Cameron?"_

_When she doesn't answer, he rolls his eyes heavenward. After settling the cup on the chair on his right, he turns to his left and begins to move her so that she's lying down with her head in his lap. It takes some finesse, but he finally has her where he wants her. His hand moves to the front of her forehead to sweep her blonde bangs back behind her ear._

_For once, he's glad she sleeps like the dead. _


	43. I'll stop you

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

"How much do you think I can get if I rent them out?"

Cameron smiles as she stretches slightly to place a short stack of plates into a cupboard.

"Depends. You'd make more if you could get them to stop muttering about how they should be working on a case when they think we're not around."

House rounds the kitchen counter to lean on the refrigerator and watch her back. She grabs a few bowls from the counter, the heels of her feet slightly shift upwards, her left hand braces herself on the counter, and the other puts the bowls on the shelf. Arching her neck, she takes a step backwards and he assumes it's to put more space between her belly and the wood.

"I'll get Cuddy to give them some of my clinic hours." He limps forward to stand beside her as she begins to pull cups out of a cardboard box. "Which, by the way, suck."

"Hey," her shoulder brushes against his as she sits a cup in the cupboard, "it's not my fault Cuddy gave you more hours."

Scrunching his face together, he snatches the paper off a cup. "_Days_, Cameron. _Days_!"

"It's not like you're actually going to do them anyways so quit crying about it."

"No, Foreman has a _key._ To _my _apartment. I don't even know how the hell he got it. _And_! Cuddy's giving him a dollar for every hour I do so he's on my ass like…sexy on Beyonce."

She scoffs, gathering the crumpled newspaper into a pile.

"I hardly feel any sympathy for you."

"Of course you do."

"No," she waddles softly to the trashcan, "you abandoned my child and me."

"Right, throw that in my face."

Opening her freezer, she tries not to smile. It's nice that she can finally do this, joke about it. That's progress, isn't it?

"Well," she pulls out an ice cream bar and begins to unwrap it. "It's the truth."

Leaning against the counter, he blows out a breath.

"I blame it on the cable."

"Cable?"

"Yeah," House frowns. "Whenever they cut my cable and you 'resigned' from the budget committee."

"Ahh, I remember."

Cameron walks toward him, drawn to him without realizing it. "It seems like a lifetime ago."

He eyes the ice cream so he won't have to look at her. "I think it was. That looks delicious."

"Get your own!"

She steps to his left, pulling her ice cream away from his close reach as she rests against the cool counter.

"My leg hurts. Come on."

"No!"

The warning doesn't stop him from reaching over again and getting his hand slapped.

"Ow!"

"I told you – ugghhh."

"What?"

Immediately, he's straightened, eyes focused on the frown on her face and the tightness of the muscles around her mouth as she brings her hand over her pregnant abdomen.

"Cameron?" His heart begins to race. "Cameron?"

"It's nothing," she says, irritation in her voice as she drops her hand.

"You sure?"

Realizing he's standing in action mode, she waves the hand with the ice cream in dismissal.

"The person inside me decided to play a good game of kickball just now. And…again."

There's something strange about his curiosity to feel the beat of feet underneath his palm. He shakes the thought away, not quickly enough however.

Hesitating, mostly because she's been known to hope too much, she waits for him to look away from her stomach, but he doesn't.

"Do you…want to feel it?"

That catches his attention and she almost wishes he'd kept looking down instead of directly at her.

"Do you…want me to?"

"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to."

It's such a Cameron answer and he what he wants to do is roll his eyes, except he knows by now she won't chance being burned by him again. Which, is a good thing considering his track record, which is, in itself, a sad thing.

"I – ."

"These are the last boxes! Where do you want us to put them?"

Expelling a loud breath, House grabs his cane. "Kids."

"Kids," Cameron agrees while nodding her head before following him to the commons area, relieved at the interruption and betting he is too.

* * *

"They say yellow is the safe color."

Cameron turns around at his voice to see him watching her from the doorway of what she's deemed the baby room.

"I'm more concerned about the lack of necessities than paint."

There's a crib, finally assembled by Kutner earlier, a bassinet from a coworker, a changing station brought from her brother, and one of those swing things he saw once on a funniest video show.

"Isn't that why you have baby showers?"

She walks slowly to the crib and trails her fingers over it.

"I haven't had one."

Against his better judgment, House limps into the room to stand in front of her and hooks his cane over the top rail beside her fingers.

"You're going to have to get over this, Cameron."

"I'm trying."

"Six days."

"I know that," she snaps. "What makes you think I don't know that? Do you think I want to be like this? Because I don't! I've tried, and I've tried, but I can only do so much at a time."

"I know."

When she slightly jerks back in surprise, he sighs.

"I have no doubt that the moment you hold the slimy thing in your arms, you'll be on top of everything. I just think you should be thinking the same thing."

Bringing a hand softly to her face, she closes her eyes.

"It's just…very hard considering what's happened."

"If you can make it working for me for three years, then you can do this."

Lightly, Cameron chuckles and shakes her head when she sees his light frown.

"Words of inspiration from Gregory House."

"I'm a fountain of icky niceness."

He reaches forward to grab his cane at the same time she leans more to the crib to straighten the pad inside. The tips of his fingers graze her extended belly and they halt in their movements simultaneously. He starts to second guess his reasons for being here. Her mind starts to race about the possible outcomes. They both look to the other to find an answer or acceptable next action.

Shaking, her hands find the fingers barely touching her stomach. If he's going to leave her again, she wants to know what this feels like just once. Gently, she covers his hand with hers and adds pressure until his palm is flat against her skin and the warmth begins to transfer to her body. For a woman who can barely touch her own abdomen, she desperately wants him to feel it.

Like a statue, he nearly holds his breath after she releases his hand. He frowns, concentrating on what he thinks he should feel and the fear beginning to bubble up. There's a subtle thump and his frown deepens before he pulls his hand away and looks directly at Cameron.

"I'm sorry I – ."

He leans down and captures her neck before she can pull away. His lips are tasting hers by the time her brain catches up with her senses and he feels her try to push him away.

He's been here before. His memories tell him so. But God, they're nothing compared to this. She's so much warmer, full of tension and doubt, denial and fear, and it all makes him want to drink it in.

She parts her lips, by now pulling him closer to her with hands gripping his t-shirt. He nearly groans when he slides his tongue into her wet mouth and she softly sucks on it.

His hands, which used to be able to fit around her, settle for her shoulders and she finds herself missing the total encompassing feel of him. Opening her mouth wider she darts her tongue into his mouth, thinking of how long it's been since she's kissed him, since she's felt anything like this.

It hasn't changed. It feels exactly the same way it did six months ago.

And that's what makes her lose her breath as she squeaks against his mouth. Cameron lowers her head, slightly dodging his attempt to keep his lips locked with hers, and forces herself away by the hands on his chest.

"No, no, no, House."

"Cameron."

He's breathy and she has to shake her head. "No. No, no, not again."

Nearly on the edge of tears that have come from nowhere, she breaks the grip he has on her shoulders and backs away until she's in the center of the lonely room with a hand covering her mouth.

"You should go."

Swallowing, he grabs his cane but makes no other move to follow her orders.

"Go, House!"

He walks away, hearing the insistence in her voice and knowing he's as caught up as she is in this thing. They've both got things to think about, except now he's one step ahead of her. He already knows exactly what he wants.


	44. Flowers are for showers

"Flowers might help."

"You think?"

Wilson shrugs, taking a drink of his beer while House scratches his chin.

"With a note, maybe."

House shakes his head before moving his feet off his coffee table. "Not lame enough."

"And some balloons?"

"Now you're just having fun with this."

Chuckling, Wilson shrugs his shoulders as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"You have to admit, it's strange that you, House, are trying to woo your pregnant ex-girlfriend."

"It's the natural order of things."

"Right. Why don't you just go tell her you love her and want to marry her, name the kid House Jr., and fall asleep to her breathing every night until you die?"

"I hate you."

* * *

"Flowers."

Chase stops midscrub, water dribbling off his elbows into the sink as he raises his eyebrows.

"Flowers? You really think flowers are going to fix everything?"

"Well," House shrugs, "there'll be a note."

A few seconds pass with them staring at each other before Chase shakes his head and goes back to washing his arms for the surgery.

"I think you should go ask someone who cares."

"I already did. Yesterday. He was the one who stupidly said flowers."

"Then I don't know what to tell you, House."

"Look," he rubs a thumb over his eyebrow. "You know her, what she likes."

"So do you."

* * *

"Flowers are a good start."

"I haven't even said anything!"

"Wilson came in earlier."

Exhaling, House limps to the window in Cuddy's office.

"He's _such_ a girl."

"I think it's a big step for you," she smiles.

Rolling his eyes, he walks closer to her desk.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I've gone all warm and gooey. What do you think I should do?"

Leaning back in her chair, Cuddy tilts her head.

"You're serious about this?"

"Why else would I be missing my wonderful clinic patients?"

She stands, checking her watch.

"I'll need until tomorrow."

"What are going to do?"

Cuddy rounds her desk with a smile and stops in front of him. She brings her hand to his cheek and pats it harshly, causing him to step back and eye her warily.

"Don't worry, you'll get the bill. Now, go do your damn hours."

* * *

"You like the flowers?"

She looks up before lowering her eyes and fidgeting with the bag on her lap.

"They were nice. Thank you, House."

Looking around, he mentally guffaws at the pinks and blues and yellows and blues adorning plates, strings, silverware, and even a few banners decorating the lounge. Cuddy knew how to throw a shower, he guessed.

"Cute," he says at the huge bear holding the plastic bottle filled with pennies and dollar bills, for no other reason than his brain is spazzing and he has absolutely nothing else to say.

"You think it's ridiculous."

"Pretty much."

He taps the bottle with his cane to hear the sound of the coins clicking together.

"House…."

"It kind of helps if you finish the sentence."

Cameron breathes out with a slight chuckle. She's so nervous she can barely look at him much less talk so normal with him.

"About the other night, I think it's best if we just forget it."

"So," he takes a few steps closer to her sitting form. "You want to just act like everything's the way it was?"

"Yes. It's the best thing for us, for Brennan."

"How do you know?"

"Uh," his low tone throws her slightly and she has to blink as he stares at her. "I just do."

"I don't."

"What?" Is it her who's a little breathless now?

"I think," he begins to pace slowly in front of her, "you still love me."

"House, you can't – ."

"And I'm ninety-four percent sure I love you," he takes a deep breath without looking at her, "sowecouldjusttrythisthingalloveragainforthekid'ssake."

She seriously thinks about asking Wilson if he's slipping House drugs again, not that she'd find the words at the moment. To hear him actually say he loves her…well, it's confusing.

House waits, and waits, then waits more. But she never says anything as she stares at him with her bottom lip slightly unhinged. Feeling his face burning, he rubs a hand over his chin.

"Thoughts?"

"Ah, sorry," she smiles softly and brings a hand to her forehead. "So, you want to get back together?"

A beat passes before he issues a, "Yeah."

"And you love me?"

"Uh, ninety-four percent isn't bad, is it?"

Sitting the red bag onto the floor, she motions for him to sit beside, and for a second, she wonders if she's asked too much because he just looks at her blankly. But he moves, slowly and cautiously until he's on the middle cushion and his right thigh brushes hers.

She watches his fingers dance along his cane, his frown try to relax but failing, his lips becoming tighter. It could be so easy, and she knows this. All she'd have to do is say 'okay' and she'd have the life she wanted lonely months ago, but months have come and gone and left her as someone different.

Fearful as she is of touching him, she tells herself she's strong enough as she holds his right hand and rests it on her thigh.

"I don't think it's a good idea, now."

"Why?" he asks with more force than he thought he needed.

Without vocalizing her thoughts, she brings his captive hand over her abdomen and nearly shivers as his gaze visibly sharpens.

"I can barely let myself touch here, House. I can't, I just can't bring a child into this world without focusing one hundred percent of myself onto them. You're a distraction, one I can't have.

"And while," she smiles lightly, "the shower you supposedly put together was a step in the right direction, I know it won't last. You won't. You'll get bored with me, with Brennan, and you won't do this anymore. You'll leave us behind."

House swallows.

"You're just afraid I won't."

"And you're afraid you will. Don't deny it. Otherwise you wouldn't have left me to begin with."

Letting go of his hand, she pushes herself forward and braces a hand on her lower back and the other on the arm of the sofa. Once she's standing, she looks down at him to find him watching her with an expression she can't read, like usual.

"Wilson's coming up to get everything while I make my way downstairs." She wets her lips. "I…don't know what else to say about all of this."

"Cameron," House relaxes into the cushions, thinking about accepting defeat or challenging the status quo. But no one tells him no, especially when he wants it. "I'm not going to stop."

At first, she doesn't answer, partly because there's not much she can say to the threat and partly because it might not even matter.

"I hope not."


	45. Lame works

**A/N: One more chapter to go!**

**Disclaimer: DOH**

* * *

"It's raining."

Cameron waits for more, but more doesn't come.

"Yeah, that's what the forecast called for."

"Those idiots are never right."

"Looks to me like you're the idiot right now."

Stepping back, she allows him entrance, shutting the door behind him as he limps toward the loveseat.

"I was thinking tomorrow you could come see me."

"Why?" she asks, her awkward steps causing her to frown in irritation.

"Because I'm a lonely soul and you brighten my day."

"Right."  
He watches her sit beside him with a groan lasting a few seconds before reaching for a half eaten peanut butter sandwich.

"All you do is eat."

"I'm pregnant."

"Likely story."

"House," she rolls her eyes, "what are you here for?"

"I'm doing all the work. It's not fair."

"What are you talking about?"  
"I'm always coming here. I kissed you. I told you I loved you. I set up your shower yesterday."

"Okay," she raises her pointer finger, "first of all, I'm not going to be driving to your apartment with my stomach out to here. Secondly, ninety-four percent is not enough for me to even think about getting together. And last, you didn't do anything for the shower!"

"But you've got to admit those are pretty big things for me."

Chewing slowly, she looks at him with a slight squint of her eyes.

"If you really wanted to prove something to me, you'd ask me to stay with you until Brennan's born."

She watches his eyes widen, his mouth tighten, and his color actually lighten a shade. Putting the last bite into her mouth, she can't help but smile because she knows she's cornered him, and that's a great feeling, no matter the answer.

"See, House? You're – ."

"Fine."

She chokes.

* * *

"Home sweet House."

"That's not funny," she mutters as she walks past him to find the bathroom.

"I thought it was!"

At the sound of the bathroom door closing, he tosses his keys onto the nearby stand and looks down at the suitcase by his feet. Now that it's over and done with, he hardly believes he's done this.

* * *

She taps her fingertips on the end of the armrest as he keeps his distance on the piano seat. Thinking for the hundredth time he's made a beyond disastrous mistake, he leans back slightly to sit straight.

"Why is this weird?"

Thank God he's finally said something, she mentally sighs.

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know."

And what's funny is, neither does she.

* * *

"You're not…sleeping with me."

"Where else am I going to sleep?"

"On the couch."

"It hurts my leg."

"Everything hurts your leg."

"My bed," he opens his drawer to pull out a pair of drawstring pants, "doesn't."

Zipping up her suitcase, she straightens out the wrinkles in her nightgown even though she's seconds away from slipping under the covers.

"No way, House."

* * *

"If you try to feel me up, I'll kick you."

"If you try to fondle me, I'll…enjoy it."

Snorting softly, Cameron closes her eyes as he flicks the light off and she feels the bed shifting under his moving body. Soon, all is still and all she can hear is his breathing mixing with the sound of hers.

"Do you have to look at me while I sleep?"

"House, my eyes are already closed."

"I can't tell."

"Trust me."

"Turn around."

"I'm pregnant!"

"And?"  
"Why don't you just turn away and that'll solve your problem."

"I'm comfortable."

"Well, so am I."

Two minutes pass and she finally begins to feel the drowsy hands of sleep clasping over her, until he opens his mouth again.

"Cameron?"

"What?"

"Seriously. Turn over."

* * *

The third time that morning she goes to the bathroom, he throws an arm over his head and sighs. It's not even half past eight and she's driving him insane.

By the time she comes out, he's swallowing two vicodin.

"I hate your bladder."

Groggy, she merely grunts as she sits heavily on the bed before swinging her legs over and pulling the comforter over her body as she turns her back to him.

* * *

"What are you making?"

"Soup."

He looks around his kitchen. "As in, Campbells?"

"Yes."

"From my cabinets?"

"Yes."

"Ah," House leans against his island, flicking the pack of already opened crackers.

"You have a good, I mean, interesting day at work?"

"Foreman got pissed at me. Thirteen told me to screw myself. Kutner put a guy into a coma. Taub threatened to quit. Wilson lectured me about you. And Cuddy made sure to tell me I'm not getting out of clinic hours tomorrow."

Watching her stir the pot, he crosses his arms across his chest.

"What'd _you_ do all day?"

"I reorganized your DVDs."

"What?!"

* * *

"House?"

"If I'd known you talked this much, I wouldn't have let you stay."

She wets her lips, bringing the pillow closer to her face.

"Are you scared?"

He finds himself momentarily paralyzed, but then he turns his head to the right.

"You're going to be okay."

"I just…I just don't know. Everything's going to change."

"Not all change is bad," he whispers gruffly in her direction.

Smiling in spite of her fear, Cameron scoots her body closer to his. And he doesn't move away.

* * *

"So, today's the big day?"

"Yeah."

Wilson frowns at House's sharp tone and decides to sit down in front of House's desk as he watches the man stare out the window.

"What's going on? Everything okay?"

"Do you think I made a mistake?"

Finding himself suddenly on edge, Wilson shifts his feet. "Uh, with what?"

"Cameron. The kid. All of it."

"House, are you – are you backing out?"

With a knock on the window, House turns slightly to look at Wilson.

"I don't know."

"You can't!"

"Why?"

Standing, Wilson motions with his hands in no set pattern, trying to find the words, the reasons, that are surely somewhere inside.

"You're just afraid. It's a big change."

"Would you want me to be a father?"

"There's no going back, House."

Looking downwards, House sighs before limping forward on his cane. He needs some air.

* * *

"Are you – ?"

"No," she interrupts him, shifting the phone by her ear as she refolds her shirt. "Still the same. I was just calling to let you know."

"Oh."

The long pause causes her to stop in her actions.

"House, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Cameron…."

"What?"

On the other end, House brings a fist to his forehead.

"Never mind."

* * *

He's done this to her before. The distance, the cold shoulder, the aloofness, the annoyance. She just hadn't expected it so soon after his declaration of love.

With a firm grip, she opens the door of the complex and finds him sitting on the steps. What she's come to say, she doesn't know.

"You okay?"

Cameron doesn't answer, and instead, lowers herself down with the aid of his arm to sit beside him. Catching her breath, she watches three cars drive past along with one couple walking down across the street. The sun already giving way to dusk, she briefly wonders why she'd bothered in the first place. Why she'd believed him when she knows he's as tied down as a northern wind.

"What are you thinking, House?"

House watches the building across the street as a curtain parts to reveal a lamplight.

"I'm thinking that I saw two shadows from up there, but that man's wife is never here on Fridays and Saturdays."

Swallowing, she covers part of her mouth with her hand.

"You've changed your mind. Haven't you?"

He looks down to his feet before looking at her.

"Damnit, House." Her eyes begin to burn. "What the hell is wrong with you? Two days ago you were sure you wanted me, and now you can barely look at me."

"Cameron," he rubs his forehead. He hadn't expected this to happen, especially not on the day she's supposed to give birth, but it's here. And he's not ready. God, he's beyond not ready.

"I'm not ready to do this, to be this. I thought…but now…."

"And you think I am?"

She needs him to see her, and so she captures his face against his resistance and forces him to look at her, inches away from her own face. Can he see it? Does he really think he's alone in this feeling?

"I can't be a father, Cameron."

"Why?"

"Look at what I'm doing to you."

"You're afraid."

"I'm selfish."

"We all are."

"Not you."

She can feel the water in her eyes begin to spill over.

"House…" her fingers lightly brush across his cheeks, "I can't do this without you. Not anymore."

He closes his eyes and leans into her hands momentarily before looking at her again.

"I'm the wrong person for all of this."

"No, you're not."

She can see it in his eyes, the thought that he's going to mess everything up like he always does. And she has no doubt he will, but that's what's changed with both of them. When one bends, the other is stronger. Always. It's just taken her a long time to realize it.

"Please don't do this, House. I'm not asking you to marry me or be there every day with Brennan. I just need to know you're here."

Pulling back, he draws her hands away from his face, but keeps holding her wrists.

"I'm self-destructing, Cameron."

"I know. And I still…still love you. God," she scoffs as she leans her forehead onto his shoulder, "we're a lame cliché aren't we?"

"Wilson thinks lame works for us."


	46. Write on me

**Disclaimer: DOH**

**A/N: So, here it is...the end. I hope you like it and I thank everyone who's been around since the beginning...which was nearly forever ago. And, I've been asked to repost the fake!psyche chapter 14, and most of you probably won't know what that means, but some of you might ;) Goodbye, folks**

* * *

_-(Cameron)_

_A finger is all she allows, light and cool in the early morning. She runs it from her last rib to the bottom of her bellybutton, and then she looks at the reflection in the mirror. It's slight, the swelling of her usually tight and taut abdomen, but it's really there. _

_The air kicks on, causing her to shiver as goosebumps rise from her skin and she lets her finger drop. For a second longer, she stares at what will become a visible manifestation of her mistakes._

"_It's alright," her voice whispers in the empty apartment, though at the moment she wishes someone would say those words to her in this time of need. But, he's not here. He might not ever be now that he's lost in limbo._

* * *

"Cud-Cud, we're going to have to make this a quick quickie. The oven and the bun are right beside me."

Cameron rolls her eyes as she switches the channel and he brings his cell to the other ear.

"Yeah, Randvich wants to induce if she doesn't pop the kid out today…..Ah, so she's already talked to you….Well, Cameron's only six days overdue."

"Only six?" she mouths at him.

"Yeah, I'm already pretty proud of the kid. Chip off the old block," he directs at her with a smirk.

Cameron pouts lightly. "Why did I have to get pregnant with your spawn?"

"What, Cuddy? No, no, you let me off this week to stay with – . Foreman and they can…."

He looks over at Cameron and she hands him a purple marker without looking at him.

"Syncope…"

Motioning the marker in the air, he looks around them for paper and she shakes her head as she grabs her belly and tries to push herself up. Telling Cuddy to wait, he throws an arm in front of Cameron, halting her from standing.

"House – ."

He disregards the raised eyebrows and grabs the hem of her t-shirt and pushes it back to reveal the bare skin of her pregnant abdomen.

"Okay, go. Fever, dysphasia, rash, light sensitivity, polyuria, diabetes, swollen tongue. Yeah, yeah, I got it all written down."

Hanging up, he caps the marker and taps it against his lip.

"Did you really have to do that?"

"Yep."

Cameron exhales and reads the writing on her stomach.

* * *

"_Hello?! Cuddy, what the hell do you want?"_

_Cameron stills, her mouth hovering over his thigh._

"_Yeah, I'm busy here. I could tell you, but you'd have to undress to get the mood right…..Oh, Cameron hasn't shown up?"_

_He looks down and sees the top of her head drop lower and the lips of her mouth make contact dangerously close to his testicle._

"_I'm sure she's just blowing off work…..You know Cameron, she'll still get the job done."_

_Hearing the click of the phone, she looks up to see his smirk and glares at him._

"_You couldn't have told her you gave me the day off?"_

_House shrugs. "I could have told her you were between my legs. I'll call her back."_

* * *

He feels the wetness before she finds her voice.

"Is that – ?"

"That was my water."

Cameron looks at him, sure as hell that they both look like they're scared to death.

* * *

"Some of the nurses are taking bets."

"Horns and a tail?"

"666."

"Close," House mutters as he loses control of his yo-yo.

Wincing, Cameron shifts in the bed.

* * *

"How's it going?"

House looks from the whiteboard to the man in green scrubs leaning against the doorway.

"Four hours."

"You're not with her."

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"There's nothing I can do."

"Really?"

He looks away as Chase straightens and walks out.

* * *

"You're back?"

He hooks his cane over the railing of her bed and grabs the towel beside the basin.

"Foreman solved the case after all."

Her eyes close as the cool cloth wipes away the sweat forming across her hair line. Gently, she feels him lift her head to wipe behind her neck and make his way over her left clavicle to her jugular notch before continuing up to her right clavicle.

"Thank you, House."

"I only did it 'cause you smell."

* * *

"I do not want you in here!"

"I'm going then!"

"Good! And take your damn cane with you!"

"I will, considering I _need_ it to walk!"

"How could I forget!?"

* * *

"Okay, Allison, you're at ten centimeters. Let's get ready to push."

"Holy mother, are you serious?"

"It only took eleven hours."

Cameron shuts her eyes tightly as the wave of pain, duller now but still there, washes over her.

"I think I can keep it in."

Randvich laughs. "You want somebody to get Dr. House?"

"Yes. Wait, no."

"You sure?"

She's not, but as she takes in a deep breath and listens to the fetal monitor beside her, she realizes this is hers.

"Yeah."

* * *

"You didn't go in?"

"She didn't ask for me."

Wilson looks surprised as he folds his arms. "And you didn't go in?"

"What's taking so damn long?!"

"It's been two minutes since they came out and told us she was getting ready to push."

Pacing harshly with his cane, House scowls at Wilson.

* * *

The crying makes her cry. The warmth of the child in her arms warms her body. This is it? This is what she's been waiting for and worrying over. Her fingers trace a tiny arm leading down to five miniature fingers and she smiles, tasting the saltiness of her sweat and tears.

He'd been right. She's holding Brennan in her arms, and she knows she can do this now.

* * *

The two men watch the doors and each straighten as they open and a nurse walks through with a smile on her young face. Wilson sighs and pats House on the shoulder while House remains frozen.

"It's a boy, Dr. House."

* * *

"House!"

He impatiently taps the glass as the nurse finally looks at him.

"Boy House!"

Wilson and Cuddy come up on his right while Foreman, Taub, Kutner, and Thirteen come to his left.

The nurse looks down at a chart and then makes her way down the second row of newborns. With a look back towards the newly formed crowd, she finally stops and picks up the baby.

Kutner frowns. "Wait, that can't be –."

"Is that…." Taub leans forward into the glass.

Wilson and Cuddy take a step forward as the nurse turns around fully with the tiny, light brown skinned baby.

House immediately looks behind him at Foreman.

"Three seconds head start."

* * *

"You got jokes, Cameron?"

Cameron looks up and smiles tiredly at his approaching form.

"I figured you might enjoy it."

He limps quietly, his cane tucked under his arm until he reaches the foot of her bed and rests it there. Hesitantly, he looks at the newborn in her arms, asleep and still pink.

"At least he's got a good head of hair."

She smiles again as she looks up. "He's beautiful, right?"

He can't help it. He honestly can't and he hates that the more he's with her the more he can't. He smiles back at her as he sits in the chair beside the bed and pushes a few unruly strands of her blonde hair behind her ear causing her to close her eyes.

"Looks like everyone lost the bet."

"No devil signs on him?"

"Nope," Cameron opens her eyes, "and it better stay like that."

"What? I wouldn't do anything."

"Yeah, you would."

House brings a soft finger down to the cheek of his son. Which is strange. Very strange. His son. Brennan House. Gingerly, he traces the small face since it's the only part of his body visible under the white blanket. There's not a sensation that everything is fine now, that this is his reason for existing. But there's also not a sensation that this is wrong, because in fact, as he memorizes the evenness of the skin under his finger, it feels almost right.

Hard to believe he's been running away from this thing since the beginning.

A deep breath is sucked in and House pulls his hand back quickly as the boy wails into the near silence of the room.

"Ah! Shut him up, Cameron."

"Two House men in my life," she nearly laughs as House covers his ears and frowns. "This should be fun."

.end.


	47. Fakepsyche chapter 14

**And here's the psycheout!**

**Edit: I think there's some confusion with this chapter. Think of it as...a gag reel off of a DVD. It's not real. What happened was, after chapter 13 I sort of went MIA for a month or two, and so to test my writing skills I wrote this fake chapter 14 that, as usual, LOL, confused a few people. I remember the quote was something like, "will probably cause brain fryation," and it did. **

**Well, I soon deleted it and wrote the 'real' chapter 14, but a few readers really wanted me to keep this or thought it was a great joke(most did not :P). So, I told them I'd repost this "missing" chapter at the end so it didn't fade into oblivion.**

**Sorry for the confusion!**

He leans his elbows on his desk, fingers steepled near his face, as his thoughts run deep. No more running away. There was one person who could answer his questions, no matter how ludicrous they seem, and that would be the person walking into his office now.

Leaning back in his chair, he motions for her to sit and relaxes his body.

"I'm not mad at you."

He raises his eyebrows.

"Wilson told me you called Sebastian. I figured you might, to satisfy your stupid curiousity, of course."

"You think I'm apologizing?"

She's silent for a second and draws in her bottom lip to wetten it. "I was hoping, yes."

"That's stupid, you know?"

"I do," she agrees, her eyes never wavering from his.

Do or die time, he thinks.

"I," he rubs his chin, "need to ask you something that may or may not sound crazy."

"I'm used to that. Shoot."

"You heard that I'm finally remembering some things? Yeah, okay. Well, I've remembered some quite, horribly autrocious things, that I don't...quite believe."

When he doesn't continue, she blinks, unsure of what he's getting at, or maybe too sure.

"Yes?"

"Well," he straightens in the chair and pulls himself closer to his desk. Looking into her eyes, he wonders what exactly is going to happen, and whether or not he really wants to know. Either option sucked. "Before I checked out into WooHoo Land, did you and I have sex?"

Her mouth drops nearly to the floor. Words jumble in her head as she tries to answer the question. Sweat begins to form under her arms and breasts.

"What?" she manages to croak.

"I remember being in the janitor's closet with you, and you're half naked. I remember you walking out of your bathroom with some blue delectible dress with this fabulous slit that let me see half-way up your--."

Raising a hand, she motions for him to stop and says it. "Stop!"

They stare at each other, neither of them sure what exactly is going to change at her answer or whether the answer will be fact or fiction.

Her first reaction is to lie. He'd ended it with her before she'd found out she was pregnant and so he'd never been obligated from the get-go. But at least then, he'd known. Now, he doesn't. And he should.

She looks down at her swollen fingers, tears begin to start stinging her eyes at the smothing emotions that just won't leave her right now. Finally, she faces him again, wishing things could be different.

Softly, almost hoarsely, she lets it go. "I lied about everything." Her shoulders straighten. "Before you went into the coma, we were...sleeping together. Not dating, just...having sex."

"I wouldn't do that." He interrupts brusquely. "You'd get too attached. I don't want that."

She smiles softly, her hands gently rubbing the top of her belly. "I know. And I did. It's why you ended it."

"Better." He hesitates, his knuckles rapping the top of his desk as he eyes her hands. "And the kid?"

"Yours," her voice breaks as she nods her head.

Even though he's been bracing himself for that exact answer, it still blows him back. The responsibility weighs down on his shoulders as they visibly sag, knowing she notices. He's got a kid. His genes are the ones swimming around in her. His kid is the one she'd eaten.

"I don't expect anything from you, House."

His attention is forced back to her.

"I told you before you went into the coma that I didn't need anything from you. You seemed to accept it." Shrugging her shoulders, she doesn't wipe the tears that are slowly falling. "I don't expect you to do it this time around. I'm fine. We're fine."

Silence, deep and tension filled, flows between them.

"And the Sebastian thing?"

"I...didn't want to have to tell you again. Wilson said he wouldn't say anything. I guess I was hoping you'd never remember what happened with us. We weren't together that long."

"You really thought that I wouldn't remember?"

"I had to."

The memories don't suddenly flood him. He doesn't suddenly remember them having sex in his bed, in his office, in her apartment. He doesn't recall her telling him she was pregnant, or that she didn't need him. In fact, the only memories of her are the ones he'd had these past two weeks, barely enough to tell him they'd had anything close to a relationship.

"I'm sorry, House. I should've told you. I just...I just couldn't."

Nodding, he seems to agree with her. She can't tell what he thinks about the whole thing. Overwhelmed might be a good word.

"Are you mad at me?" she asks carefully.

He is. This is his child, and she'd kept it from him. She'd tried to play a game with him, to pull a fast one on him, and this is his flesh and blood. Then again, he'd wanted no part in the kid's life before he went into the coma. Did he have any right to be angry now? No.

He breathes out. "Yes."

"I'm sorry. If I could do it over again..."

"You'd do the same. That's fine."

Everything said, his suspiciouns confirmed, he doesn't know where else to go from here. She is a beautiful young, pregnant, woman. And he is none of those, thankfully. They would never have worked before; they won't even work now.

"What now?" she asks him, needing to know what happens next.

He rubs a hand over his face, finally resting his chin in his hand, as his elbow rests on the desk. So many directions to choose from. So many directions he suddenly found he wanted to take.

"I...I think you need that crib fixed. It can't be hard enough that a crippled can't figure out."

Not replying, she's not sure what that means.

"You've got my kid in there, whether I like it or not. I can help you."

"Help...me?"

"I'm not saying I'm going to marry you, or date you, and I won't be a good dad, but I can be something."

She wipes the tears away, smiling for some reason she doesn't know. She'll take what she can get, hoping somewhere along the way she can change his mind since she'd been so close to it before she'd gotten pregnant.

"I'd like you to be something."

* * *

"Can you tell me your name?"

He blinks his eyes against the glaring yellow light being forced into his eyes.

"Get that damn light out of my eyes! I'm fine."

Foreman looks at him dubiously as he tries to sit up.

"I need you--."

"Six, eleven, fifty-nine..." He trails off, realizing he's woken up. He's woken up. His head turns to look out of the glass window to see her in the middle of the hallway, dead in her tracks. Her hands fall to her sides, her stomach flat and taut under her white coat.

"What the _hell_ happened to me, Foreman?"


End file.
